At Madison Primary School, back when the Teddy Bears’ campus sat where the hospital and college science building now reside, we excitedly participated in Field Day each spring. I counted the days down as we not only played fun games, but we also competed for the top spots in each of the activities.

The three-legged race was fun, but I was usually paired with someone who was uncoordinated and slowed us down. The sack race was okay, and I never came in last, but I always struggled with the sack. Sprints and other running races proved to be competitive, but I could never pull them off.

But the crab race, now that was my jam. While others struggled to contort their bodies to the crab position, as a wiry, tree climbing kid, I was a natural. Every year, I easily placed in this event and proudly displayed my ribbon.

As I watched my own children and their classmates participate in a modern day, less competitive version of Field Day this past week, I had an epiphany: while many kids looked forward to Field Day, others hated it. Never in my forty years had I considered any other reality except excitement and joy in connection with this event. But here I stood watching several children beg to go inside because they didn’t want to participate.

A similar scenario occurred during our town’s wonderful Down Home Days celebration this past weekend. I remember the fanfare and excitement of being in the parade every year from middle school forward. Lights. Sirens. Candy. Floats. Princesses. Horses. And the marching band.

Friends. Music. Laughs. And parades. My high school life revolved around band practices, classes, and performances— I loved it.

This weekend I watched the marching bands maneuver the streets during our hometown parade. I’m not gonna lie, a few tears snuck down my cheek as I remembered all those sweet times. I also watched my children enjoy themselves as they represented their school on a float in the parade. They loved being in the parade as much as I used to.

But did you know not everyone likes parades? Or band? Or even watching these things? This reality hit me this weekend as I was trying to be in two places at one time and the luster I always associated with the band and parade was missing. I watched my kids and then got back to my responsibilities.

Our perspective changes with the years. Those activities that once identified and drove me as a kid don’t dictate my direction anymore. I couldn’t bend into the crab position to race at this point in life no matter how hard I tried and nothing about marching in the heat down a crowded street seems appealing.

But you know what does matter? Making sure my kids get those experiences. Doing everything within my power to allow magical moments to flood their childhood. Being the best parent and encourager I can possibly be for my boys.

I’ve discovered who I am as I’ve grown over the years, but my kids are still figuring everything out. And just because I loved Field Day as a kid doesn’t mean they will. Or just because I devoured everything related to marching band doesn’t mean they will.

If I realized anything this weekend, I learned that everyone has different interests and not everyone will value what I value. And that’s okay. But I also recognized that sometimes my biggest role is cheerleader for those around me.

This week I am asking myself a couple questions and I challenge you to do the same. Am I doing all I can to encourage this younger generation to seek and find themselves? Am I cheering them on, even if their interests and skills are different than mine?