Our spring soccer season wrapped up last week with two tournament losses. My youngest son’s team went out in the first round, while my oldest son’s team lost a heartbreaker 1-0 in the championship.

For the boys, it didn’t mean much. They’ve had seasons come and go. For me, it was a bittersweet milestone as it marks the end of my time as a soccer coach.

I’ve done this in some capacity for the past four years. I jumped in as an assistant for my older son’s team, eventually serving as his head coach through spring of last year. I loved it. I loved planning drills and thinking about how to organize my team for different opponents. We never won a championship or advanced that far in the tournament, but I liked the kids and seeing them develop over time.

Of course, my older son had a different experience. He didn’t like me coaching and over time he seemed to have less fun playing. The only way he would agree to play this spring was if I agreed not to coach him anymore. I thought about it for awhile and reluctantly agreed. This was about his experience, not mine, and he had a great spring on a new team. He played hard and had fun and wanted to go back for the upcoming fall. Not coaching him was the right call.

Besides, I was still the assistant coach for my younger son’s team. He had very different feelings about me coaching. At times, I couldn’t peel him off of me at practice or on the sidelines. His team was harder to coach because they were so much younger. There was no strategy since we really needed to focus on learning to pass and trying to hold a position on the field. His team was overmatched in many games, but they grew over the course of the season and I enjoyed seeing them look for open-teammates and pass the ball around.

His coach was moving on after the season, but I thought my younger son would continue playing and I would slide into the head coach position for another couple of years. But while my younger son liked having me coach, he really didn’t like soccer. When it came time to register for the fall he was pretty clear he wanted to try something new. I asked a couple of times to make sure, but he didn’t waver. I could have signed him up anyway, but that would have been for me and not for him. As much as I liked coaching them, I had to let it go.

I will miss coaching, but it’s more important that the boys have their own experiences and find their interests. That doesn’t mean I’m happy about it, but I understand and know it’s time to move forward. There will be other things I get to share with them, and sometimes it’s better to watch than lead.

My younger son underscored this point well on our way off the field. His team lost, and I tried to offer some comfort:

Me: “I know you lost, but your team played well. You talked to each other and made some passes. You came a long way from… “

Son: “Look at me. I’m a hippo.”

He had shoved the post-game juice box into his mouth and did sort of look like a hippo. More than that, though, he’d already moved on and was ready to go in the backyard and play with his friends. It was just a game, and it was time for a new one. For both of us.