This is an archived article that was published on sltrib.com in 2015, and information in the article may be outdated. It is provided only for personal research purposes and may not be reprinted.

If you're a parent and you've got a son or a daughter who either plays sports at any level or wants to someday play sports, listen up for a minute here.

Enjoy it. Enjoy every bit of it.

Doesn't matter if it's recreational soccer, Little League, Junior Jazz, top-drawer club, high school or college sports, or any and all of the above.

Embrace the experience. And love your kid along the way, come what may.

Because it will end one day and all you and your kid will have are relationships and memories. At that point, the trophies or lack thereof won't matter at all.

You won't even remember the wins and losses. Well, you'll remember some of them, but not the way you think you will, not with the same intensity or perspective. It will be OK. It should be.

I hugged my kid, Taylor, last night at her final high school volleyball banquet, and it felt good. She's a senior now and probably won't play high-level organized volleyball again. She's the last of five daughters, all of whom played sports, some of whom were more athletic and skilled than their siblings, and I won't go into any detail here about who was better and who was worse. I'm not a complete idiot.

But when I looked into Taylor's eyes, after I wiped away the backed-up plumbing in my own, I saw happiness and satisfaction for what she had accomplished with her team and gratitude that I supported and encouraged her and pretty much stayed out of the way and kept my big bazoo shut.

Her volleyball experience may not have been always perfect — there were highs and lows and lows and highs — but it was hers, shared with her team(s) through the years.

The last thing she needed or wanted was an overzealous parent who felt compelled to make it his.

Having had five kids play sports taught me a few things, things parents are better off learning sooner rather than later. I've told the story before and I'll tell it again, about watching my oldest daughter, Lauren, play a tennis match early in her development against an opponent she ordinarily would have beaten with relative ease. I stood next to her coach, Clark, while she slammed balls all over creation, missing badly.

I said to him: "What's wrong with her today?"

He said: "I'm proud of her. I changed her grip a couple of days ago, and she's staying with it. She could have switched back to win, but she's doing exactly what I told her to do."

I mumbled and grumbled and harrumphed.

A few minutes later, I said: "Man, Clark, this is hard to watch."

He said: "It's a lot harder watching it with you."

That was some 20 years ago, and I never forgot those words.

Here's what those 20 years of watching kids play sports taught me:

Don't fret over and complain about coaches or playing time. Don't be stupid. Don't be impatient. Don't be selfish. Don't dial in on only my (or your) own kid. Don't jump Coach Fuddpucker on account of the fact that Bill and Cindy's boy or Jim and Sally's girl is getting more minutes and shots and touches and opportunities and glory than my (or your) boy or girl is. Don't go there. Stow my (your) ego away. Don't live vicariously through my (your) child. Don't take anything personally. Don't ruin the whole deal for my (your) kid by putting negative thoughts in his or her mind about his or her coaches or his or her circumstances. Let them find their own way through it — and they will.

They'll work harder or they won't. They'll exceed my (your) expectations or they won't. They'll take lessons learned or they won't. It's up to them, no matter how much I (you) might think otherwise.

Over those years, I've seen all kinds of bad behavior on the part of grown adults who have acted more like the kid, while their kid acted more like the adult. I saw parent-kid relationships ruptured because a parent thought his or her child was going to be Tiger Woods or Steffi Graf or Mike Trout or John Stockton or Aaron Rodgers or Mia Hamm or Logan Tom. When all their kid wanted to be was happy, playing a game.

Last night, I looked at my daughter and her friends on her team and felt good inside about her — their — experience with sports. She was still my goofy, knuckleheaded girl, although, when I looked close, I realized she was standing on the other side of a threshold I hadn't even realized she'd crossed. And sports, thankfully, had helped her get there.

GORDON MONSON hosts "The Big Show" with Spence Checketts weekdays from 3-7 p.m. on 97.5 FM and 1280 AM The Zone. Twitter: @GordonMonson.