Thank You for Letting Me Watch Your Children Grow

This Thanksgiving, I find myself reflecting on a year that taught me more than any textbook, certification, or championship ring ever could.

Your children taught me what strength actually means.

January reminded me that none of our kids have it figured out—and they don’t need to. Not your 14-year-old chasing a varsity spot. Not your college-bound senior navigating recruitment pressure. Not my own son Padraig, who shows me daily that the path forward rarely looks like a straight line. I watch your children take it one rep at a time, one session at a time, stacking small wins they can’t yet see the meaning of. You’re doing the same as parents—trusting a process without knowing the outcome.

February showed me that your child’s kindness builds their character more than their stats ever will. I watch how your kids treat the younger ones waiting for the next group. I see how they respond when a teammate struggles. That compassion they carry? It’s not soft. It’s the foundation of every great team I’ve ever been part of. You raised that in them before I ever met them.

March taught me to embrace the unpredictable—something your children handle better than we give them credit for. Training plans change. Games get canceled. Injuries happen. Life refuses to follow the script. Your kids adapt. They recalibrate. They figure it out. They learned that from watching you do the same thing.

April proved that difficulty creates who your child becomes. Every kid who walks through my doors frustrated, tired, or doubting themselves is doing exactly what they need to do. When your child texts you from the parking lot saying they don’t want to go in—that’s the moment growth lives. And you, the parent who makes them go anyway? You’re building something in them they won’t understand for years.

May was my reminder that your children carry more strength than their fears allow them to see. I’ve watched kids terrified of failure become leaders. I’ve seen children who couldn’t make eye contact during their first assessment now coach their peers through movement corrections. Your child’s breakthrough is closer than either of you expect. I get to witness it. You get to live it.

June reinforced what I’ve always believed about the energy your family brings. The right environment attracts the right people. Your child trains alongside other kids whose parents made the same sacrifice you did—the early mornings, the rearranged schedules, the financial commitment, the belief that this matters. That collective investment creates something none of us could build alone.

July hit different this year. Some of your children feel “too much”—too intense, too emotional, too driven. As a father raising Padraig, who experiences the world with a sensitivity most people will never understand, I’ve learned that intensity isn’t a flaw to manage in your child. It’s a force to channel. Padraig has taught me that what looks like “too much” to the outside world is actually a depth of feeling that most people never access. Your kid should never apologize for caring deeply about something. Neither should you for raising them that way.

August reminded me that your child standing out matters infinitely more than fitting in. The world pressures our kids to smooth their edges, quiet their voices, become palatable. But the children who change things? They’re the ones who refused to shrink. Every time you tell your child it’s okay to be different, you’re giving them permission to become who they actually are.

September stripped away perfection as something any child should chase. Your child’s progress, their effort, their persistence—these build something lasting. Not flawless execution. Not perfect games. Not the highlight reel you post. The real stuff happens in the failures nobody sees and the mornings they showed up anyway.

October reinforced that your child’s instincts deserve trust. Kids who learn to listen to their bodies prevent injuries. Parents who trust their gut about their child’s development make better decisions than those chasing what worked for someone else’s kid. The answers usually live inside your family already. I’m just here to help you find them.

November—this month—showed me that your child’s quiet strength outlasts loud talent. Resilience doesn’t announce itself. It just keeps moving forward. I see this in your kids every single day. The ones who don’t make the Instagram highlight but who never miss a session. The ones who struggle and stay. The ones who fail and return. You raised that resilience in them.

December, I commit to remembering this: Every child who walks through my doors brings something irreplaceable. Every parent who sacrifices time, money, and energy to get them here teaches me something about love in action. On the hard days when your child doesn’t feel like they’re enough, when you don’t feel like you’re doing enough, know this—you’re still becoming who you’re meant to be simply by showing up for each other.

To every family who trusted me with your child this year: I don’t take that lightly. You handed me something precious and asked me to help them grow. That responsibility has changed me more than I’ve changed them.

To every kid who pushed through when quitting felt easier: I see you. Your parents see you. Keep going.

To every parent reading this who wonders if you’re doing it right: You drove them here. You waited in the parking lot. You asked how it went. You cared enough to try. That’s the whole thing.

Happy Thanksgiving. 🦃 🧩 ❤️ 🖤

With gratitude,

Joe Caligiuri