Hear Us Out: Shut the Fuck Up When I’m Yelling At My Son About Sports

Hey folks, Jimmy LaRue here. I’m 47 years old, a small business owner, and above all, a devoted father. I love my kids with every fiber of my being. That’s why—and please, hear me out here—you should all shut the fuck up when I’m yelling at my son about sports. 

Parents these days are too soft, and it’s hurting their kids. How many legendary athletes reached the pinnacle of their sport by listening to their vegan dad tell them how proud he felt watching them give up 11 goals? I didn’t look up the answer, and I don’t need to. It’s zero. 

Listen, there’s a sacred bond between a screaming man and his terrified child. Science shows that kids can’t retain lessons if they’re distracted by support and love. You’re not a better parent than me because you hug your little loser every time he falls and scrapes his knee. In the octagon, your opponent only hugs you if they’re initiating a chokehold. It’s the same with life.  

Some of my fondest memories are of me and my pops, hanging out after practice, his shrieking voice bombarding my fragile, pre-pubescent eardrums. I can still hear him yelling at me to get up after I broke my ankle in a pickup soccer game when I was nine years old. “Get up! I didn’t raise a quitter!” I gained so much wisdom walking myself to the hospital after my dad refused to give me a ride.  

When I’m screaming at my son because he turned the ball over in crunch-time, nothing else matters—not the concerned looks on his teammates’ faces, not the referee blowing his whistle in my face, trying to get me to stop, and certainly not the police officer asking my son if he “feels safe.” All that matters are the priceless life lessons I’m passing down to my offspring. So, next time, do us all a favor and just shut the fuck up.