"Skiing Is Supposed To Be Fun"—A Lesson Every Sports Dad Could Learn From

This story originally appeared in the print magazine POWDER 2026 Photo Annual. Copies are still available while supplies last. Click here to get yours.

I Try Not To Be a Sports Dad

And yet here I am, on the side of a slalom course at Snowking Resort, and I’m livid.

I watch as skiers fly by in descending bib order. Bib 32. Then 30. My kid, wearing bib 31, missed his start. I wait as the rest of the field navigates the course, then watch as my son takes his run at the end of his age group, per division rules. I cheer him on as I always do, but inside I’m fuming. 

Like many skiers, I wasn’t raised on a mountainside, but in organized sports. My formative years were spent shuttling to soccer games every weekend and tournaments year-round. Indoors in the winter, camps in the summer, club league in the spring, and high school through the fall. I loved it at the time, but looking back, I think of the ski trips we missed, or the vacations that could have been if we didn’t spend that time and money on sports. When soccer flamed out for me after my sophomore year of college, I moved to Colorado and quickly realized that sports, while valuable, are recreation. Skiing is a lifestyle. 

So as our two boys started aging into sports, we tried to emphasize experience over competition. They should try whatever sports they want, with the caveat that they don’t have to do any of them—except skiing, because that’s something we do as a family (to which my youngest, then about 4, once quipped, “I would like a TV-watching family”). When they were ready to move on from the Snowbasin Ski Team’s devo program, we let them choose their next step. My oldest chose racing. He liked the structure and, more importantly,  it was what his friends did. Our youngest, as younger siblings will do, followed his brother. 

I saw a bright side in them choosing the most jock of ski disciplines. There were a lot of lessons I learned growing up as a comp sports athlete that I could see my kids getting from ski racing: physical fitness, goal-setting, camaraderie, commitment, and accountability. Now, as I ski down toward the finish, I feel like maybe those lessons are not sinking in. 

I don’t find him right away, so I talk to some other parents. I didn’t grow up ski racing, so to me, this was like not being on the bench when the coach calls your name. The advice I got (at least he was skiing, not staring at a phone; he’ll be harder on himself than you ever could be; as long as it doesn’t become a habit, it’s not a big deal) was varying versions of “just let it go.” So in the moment, that’s what I did.

There’s also another aspect. Was I really mad he had missed his start, or because he didn’t perform as well as I think he’s capable? Would I be this angry if he had podiumed? Something happens when we get our kids into sports—they become our new favorite team. Which can be really cool. Every child should feel supported. But it can also be dangerous. The Red Sox can’t hear the asinine crap I yell at the TV. Our kids don’t only hear it—they hear gospel. By laying into him now, I risk becoming the very demon I profess to disdain. 

In the end, I decide I have every reason to be disappointed. It was disrespectful to his coaches, his teammates—and, yes, to me. What about me! I just drove four and a half hours from Ogden to Jackson Hole, and I won’t even get a single tram lap. I planned to use the car ride home to make my point. While it will surely make for a long trip, something, I felt, needed to be said.  

On our way out of town, we have a moment of serendipity. At a bus stop, still dressed in full ski gear, I see a familiar face. I immediately pull over. 

“What are we doing?” my kid asks. 

“I have to say hi to a friend,” I tell him. He gets out and follows me.

Dan is a ski guide who organized a trip to the Meadows Hut in British Columbia that I was recently invited on. It was the type of trip that epitomizes everything great about the ski lifestyle. It was the best snow I would ski all season, surrounding an isolated hut accessed via helicopter. Beyond that, it was the kind of adventure you go into with one good friend and 11 strangers, and come out of with 12 good friends. Dan was one of those new friends. After the initial pleasantries, I introduce the two. 

“How was the race,” Dan asks him.

“Super fun!” 

“We had an issue with a missed start,” I interject. 

“Oh yeah? What were you doing?” Dan asks. 

“Hitting jumps with my friend.” 

Dan looks up at me incredulously, then back to my son. 

“Well, I think that’s awesome,” he says. “You would think of all people, your dad would understand that skiing is supposed to be fun.” 

And that was it. That was the lecture. Everything that needed to be said, succinctly put and firmly landed with the one person who really needed to hear it.

This story originally appeared in the print magazine POWDER 2026 Photo Annual. Copies are still available while supplies last. Click here to get yours.

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