If you’re going to be cheering from the sidelines, there are a few things you need to remember.

Watching your children play sport can be complicated.

“Tackle him. TACKLE HIM! … Ohh no. You are pathetic!”

Witnessing a man in his early 40s berate his nine-year-old son from the boundary line during a local junior footy match is peculiarly distressing.

At quarter time, while the rest of the team huddled around the coach, the boy was separated so that he could be subjected to a finger-pointing tirade from his Dad.

Eventually the Club took action and banned the father from attending games. It was the right decision. But the sad and lonely consequence of it was that his kid stopped playing footy.

This Dad was a vivid example of the dangers of compensating for your own inadequacies by bullying your kids, of pushing them to pursue your life’s vision rather than empowering them to dream their own.

But sometimes the moral of this cautionary tale of the ugly parent is to warn against living vicariously through your children at all. If this is the model for a thoroughly modern parent, then I fear I maybe failing.

While my son Sam played in that same footy game, it is golf which has since become his thing. As an avid golfer myself, nothing gives me more joy than watching Sam play. And given that he's been beating me since he was 14, there is no question that his abilities have been compensating for my

.

Caddying for Sam, at age 15, a few years ago, I watched a cruel bounce on the second hole rob Sam of a couple of shots. As he tried harder to correct his error, I tried more to tell him how to try harder. Before long the two of us had melted down and Sam returned his worse round in competitive golf.

Was I the ugly parent?

Realising that our love for each other did not translate into a constructive relationship on the golf course, I didn't caddie for him again that year.

I took some solace from Sam's coach who informed me that parents never make good caddies. There is simply too much emotional investment.

That same emotional investment was on display over summer as my nine-year-old Bella competed in her first season of nippers at 13th Beach Lifesaving Club. Twitching with excitement as she lined up for the flag race, I gave advice about how best to lie poised in the sand. How could I not fist-pump the air when Bella triumphed?

Bella's Mum is no better. Recently at the Grand Final of the local netball comp, Bella's team got across the line by a single goal but not before Rachel and her friends were very publicly warned by the umpire that if they continued with their excitement they were liable to wet their pants.

And just last Saturday child number three, Harvey, was introduced to a parent's emotional investment as he took to the golf course. With his elder brother Sam watching, Harvey stood over a 12 foot putt for his first ever par at age six (which would be a year younger than Sam achieved that same feat). This was a shot that carried with it all the pressure of a winning putt for the Masters. As his brave attempt rolled six inches past, Harvey burst into tears and sadly walked off the green. Following him, I was crying too.

Maybe this is vicariously living through my children. But at that moment with my arm around one son and words of comfort emanating from the other, this was glorious. It was the human experience at its fullest. Being emotionally invested in my kids is what I want to be. For me this was not vicarious living. It was just life: palpable and real.

How do you encourage your kids in sport without getting carried away?

Want more? Try this:

For & Against: Should there be winners & losers in kids’ sport?

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