There is a story about Wayne Gretzky and his father, Walter Gretzky, that I think every youth sports parent and coach should understand.

Not because every child is going to become the next Wayne Gretzky. They aren’t. And that’s not really the point. The point is what Walter did before anyone knew who Wayne was going to become.

Before the records.
Before the Stanley Cups.
Before No. 99.
Before the world called him “The Great One.”

Wayne Gretzky was simply a little boy who wanted to be on the ice. And he didn’t want to leave.

The Hunger Belonged to the Child First

As a young boy, Wayne was obsessed with hockey. Walter took him to outdoor rinks, where other children eventually went home. Wayne stayed. Walter would sit in the freezing car, waiting for his son to finally be finished. The problem wasn’t getting Wayne to practice.

The problem was getting him to stop.

That distinction matters. Walter didn’t look at his son’s obsession and immediately think, How do I make him a professional hockey player?

He simply paid attention.

Wayne kept asking to skate.
Wayne kept staying longer.
Wayne kept coming back.

Walter later described it this way: “Once we got Wayne on skates, the tough part was getting him off them.” I think there is a tremendous lesson in that.

The hunger belonged to the child first.

Walter didn’t manufacture the desire. He recognized it. That’s an important distinction for parents because there is a fine line between supporting a child’s passion and creating a passion for them.

One develops the child.

The other can eventually control the child.

Wally’s Coliseum

Eventually, Walter had enough. Not of Wayne. Of freezing.

When Wayne was four, Walter flooded the family’s backyard and built him his own rink. The family called it Wally’s Coliseum. Walter later joked that it wasn’t some grand master plan to create a hockey superstar.

It was self-preservation. If Wayne wanted to skate forever, at least his father could watch from the warmth of the house. But something important happened in that backyard.

Support became work.

Walter maintained the ice.
He flooded it.
He installed lights.
He built Wayne a goal.
He created drills.
He found older children for Wayne to play against.
He kept creating opportunities for his son to pursue something that Wayne had already demonstrated that he loved.

That’s different from forcing a child into something.

Walter wasn’t saying:

“You’re going to become a hockey player.”

He was essentially saying:

“You clearly love this. Let’s see how far you can take it.”

That’s good parenting. It’s also good coaching.

Build The Environment

This is something I think about often as a lacrosse coach. A young athlete needs an environment where they can develop. They need instruction, competition, teammates, accountability and opportunities to fail and try again.

They need adults who understand that development takes time.
They need coaches who will challenge them.
They need parents who will support them.

And they need opportunities to discover what they are capable of doing. As coaches and parents, there is a lot we can provide:

• Instruction
• Equipment
• Transportation
• Competition
• Training opportunities
• Encouragement
• Accountability
• Structure
• Positive examples
• A safe environment to fail and learn

But there is one thing we can’t provide.

Desire.

I can put a lacrosse stick in a player’s hands.
I can teach him how to throw and catch.
I can teach him how to dodge, shoot, defend, ride and compete.
I can explain why preparation matters.
I can hold him accountable when he doesn’t prepare.

But I can’t make him care.

At some point, the athlete has to decide that the game matters to him. That decision cannot come from me.

It has to come from him.

The First Failure

Wayne eventually joined organized hockey at six years old. He was playing against children considerably older than him. And his first season?

One goal.

One.

Think about that.

The player who would eventually become the most dominant offensive player in hockey history began organized hockey with one goal in an entire season. Walter didn’t panic.

He didn’t decide Wayne wasn’t talented.
He didn’t tell him to find another sport.
He didn’t start obsessing over the statistics.
He kept helping.

And Wayne kept wanting to play. That’s another lesson I think is important for parents and coaches.

Early results don’t necessarily define the child.

A six-year-old’s statistics don’t tell you who that six-year-old is going to become.

Neither do the statistics of a 10-year-old. Or a 12-year-old. Or even a 14-year-old.

Children develop at different rates. Some mature physically early. Some mature later. Some understand the game before they have the physical tools to execute it.

Others develop tremendous physical ability first and learn the game later.

Development is messy. It is rarely a straight line.

Our job isn’t to constantly determine whether a child is already good enough.

Our job is to help them become better.

Then Everything Changed

Wayne’s development eventually became extraordinary. During his youth career, he produced a season in which he scored 378 goals.

Suddenly, people were paying attention. Newspapers were writing about him. Parents were talking about him. Coaches were watching him. The little boy who simply wanted to play hockey wasn’t anonymous anymore.

And that’s when something strange happened.

Success created a new problem.

Adults entered the dream. Some people celebrated Wayne. Others didn’t. Parents reportedly called him a puck hog. Some brought stopwatches to games to track how long he possessed the puck.

He was booed.

There were people predicting that the young phenomenon would burn out before adulthood.

Eventually, the attention became ugly enough that his hockey path took him away from Brantford. That part of the story is important because it is still recognizable today.

Sometimes the hardest part of youth sports isn’t the children.

It’s the adults.

Children generally want to play. Adults turn it into something bigger.

We compare.
We rank.
We criticize.
We obsess over statistics.
We argue about playing time.
We start talking about college scholarships when some kids are still trying to figure out whether they actually love the sport.

And sometimes, without realizing it, we take something that belonged to the child and make it belong to us.

When Support Becomes Control

There is nothing wrong with wanting the best for your child. Every parent wants their son or daughter to succeed. The problem begins when our definition of success replaces theirs.

There’s a difference between saying:

“I see that you love this. How can I help you?”

and saying:

“I want you to be great at this, so you need to do more.”

The first starts with the child. The second starts with the adult.

Parents should constantly ask themselves:

• Is my child asking for more?
• Or am I demanding more?
• Is my child enjoying the process?
• Or am I focused primarily on the outcome?
• Does my child want additional training?
• Or am I adding more because I believe they should?
• Are they practicing because they want to improve?
• Or because they are afraid of disappointing me?

Those are difficult questions. But they’re worth asking.

Because support should strengthen a child’s ownership of the sport — not take ownership away from them.

The Doubt

Despite all of Wayne’s production, there was still something people couldn’t ignore.

He was small.

At 14, Gretzky later remembered being roughly 5’6″ and 127 pounds.

The hockey world valued size and strength. There were people who believed his body would prevent him from succeeding.

Even later, when professional teams were considering him, concerns about his size and weight followed him. Imagine hearing that about the player who would eventually become The Great One.

Walter couldn’t make Wayne bigger. So he helped make him smarter. He taught him how to think.

Don’t simply chase where the puck is. Anticipate where it is going.

• Understand positioning.
• Recognize patterns.
• See angles.
• Read the game.

Those concepts became some of Wayne’s greatest advantages. Gretzky later pushed back against the idea that his hockey intelligence was simply something he was born with. He credited his father by describing it as “Wally-given.”

I love that because it captures something important about coaching. Great coaches don’t necessarily give athletes something they don’t possess. Sometimes they recognize something that is already there.

Then they help the athlete develop it.

The Real Secret

Years later, Gretzky talked about all those hours he spent on the ice. And what he said is probably the most important part of the entire story. He didn’t remember those hours as practice. If he had thought of them as practice, he said he probably wouldn’t have done them.

He wasn’t thinking:

“If I work for four hours today, maybe someday I’ll make the NHL.”

That wasn’t the motivation.

He did it because he loved it.

That’s the part that gets lost in youth sports.

We can force the hours.
We can force the practices.
We can force the private lessons.
We can force the camps.
We can force the extra reps.

But we cannot force the reason a child wants to do those things.

You can force the hours. You cannot force the hunger.

And that hunger has to belong to the athlete.

What Walter Gretzky Gave His Son

Walter gave Wayne plenty. He gave him:

• A rink
• Time
• Transportation
• Instruction
• Competition
• Drills
• Opportunity
• Older players to compete against
• An environment where he could experiment and grow

But there was one thing Walter couldn’t give him.

The desire to keep coming back.

That belonged to Wayne.

And that’s the distinction I wish more parents understood.

Parents and coaches can provide:

• The environment
• The opportunity
• The instruction
• The structure
• The encouragement
• The accountability

But the athlete must provide:

• The desire
• The commitment
• The curiosity
• The effort
• The resilience
• The willingness to keep coming back

That’s where ownership begins.

Watch Before You Push

Before we start asking how to make our son or daughter better, maybe we should spend more time watching them.

What do they do when nobody is forcing them?
What do they talk about on the ride home?
What do they practice in the backyard?
What do they ask to do on a Saturday morning?

What happens when practice ends?

Do they immediately want to leave?
Or do they want to stay another 20 minutes?

Do they put their stick away when they get home?
Or do they pick it back up?

Do they need to be reminded to practice?
Or do you have to remind them to stop?

Those behaviors tell you something. They tell you where the interest is. They tell you where the energy is. And sometimes our job as parents is simply to pay attention long enough to recognize it.

This is Why I Coach

This is a big part of why I coach. I don’t want to manufacture lacrosse players.

I want to develop young people.

There is a difference.

I want to challenge athletes.
I want to hold them accountable.
I want to teach them how to practice.
I want to teach them how to compete.
I want to teach them how to respond when things don’t go their way.
I want to teach them how to become better teammates.

And I want them to understand that the lessons they learn through lacrosse will eventually matter much more away from the field than they ever will on it.

But I don’t want to take ownership of their dreams. That belongs to them. My responsibility is to create an environment where they can discover what they are capable of doing.

I can provide instruction.
I can provide opportunities.
I can raise the standard.
I can demand effort.
I can teach them what commitment looks like.
I can show them what happens when preparation meets opportunity.

But I can’t care more about their development than they do.

Nobody can.

The Honey Badger Mindset

That’s part of what I mean when I talk about the Honey Badger Mindset. The Honey Badger isn’t about being forced to work.

It’s about developing the internal mindset to embrace the work.
It’s about learning to compete when things aren’t easy.
It’s about responding to mistakes instead of being defined by them.
It’s about taking responsibility instead of making excuses.
It’s about being willing to do the uncomfortable things required to improve.

And most importantly, it’s about developing ownership.

I don’t want players who work hard because Coach H is watching. I want players who eventually understand the value of hard work well enough to hold themselves to that standard when I’m not watching.

That’s when development becomes real.
That’s when lacrosse becomes more than a sport.

And that’s when coaching becomes bigger than winning games.

The Result

Wayne Gretzky eventually became a four-time Stanley Cup champion, a nine-time Hart Trophy winner and a 10-time NHL scoring champion. He became the NHL’s all-time leader in assists and points. His career goal record of 894 stood for decades before Alex Ovechkin surpassed it in 2025.

Those numbers are extraordinary.

But I don’t think the numbers tell the most important part of the story. Walter Gretzky’s greatest accomplishment may not have been helping produce those numbers.

It may have been never making those numbers the reason Wayne loved hockey. The numbers tell the story.

The love wrote it.

Build The Rink

Your child doesn’t need you to create their dream. They need you to recognize it when it appears.

Watch.
Listen.
Pay attention.

Look for the things they keep returning to when nobody is forcing them. Then, when you see genuine hunger, give them an opportunity.

Give them guidance.
Give them instruction.
Give them competition.
Give them an environment where they can grow.

And then let them own the journey.

There is a difference between pushing a child toward a destination and helping a child discover a direction. One can create pressure. The other can create ownership.

And ownership is powerful.

I don’t need every athlete I coach to become a professional lacrosse player. That’s not the goal.

I want them to discover what happens when they care deeply about something and decide to pursue it with discipline. I want them to learn what commitment feels like. I want them to experience failure and learn how to respond. I want them to understand accountability. I want them to experience improvement.

And I want them to understand what it feels like to want to come back tomorrow and do it again.

That’s the part we can’t manufacture.

We can build the rink.
We can open the doors.
We can turn on the lights.
We can put the stick in their hands.
We can teach them how to play.
We can challenge them to become better.

But ultimately…

They have to want to stay on the field.

Maybe that’s the greatest lesson Walter Gretzky gave all of us. He didn’t create The Great One. He recognized a little boy who loved hockey and gave him a place to play. And I think that’s what great parents and great coaches do.

They pay attention.
They recognize the spark.
They protect it.
They challenge it.
They give it room to grow.

Then they let the athlete decide how badly they want to pursue it.

You can build the rink.
You can provide the opportunity.
You can teach the game.

But they have to want to stay on the ice.