Richard Hogan: Let's not forget the GAA does incredible work with our girls 

Richard Hogan: "Seeing your child being clapped and high-fived as they come off the pitch — whether they are smiling or disappointed — you are witnessing resilience being formed." Picture: Moya Nolan

Everything seems better drenched in sunshine. Even taking out the bins does, with a wink and a nod to the neighbour: “Glorious day!”

Waking up to sunlight spilling through the window is not something Irish people are used to.

But it changes the mood. We’re more connected to the celestial goings-on than we like to admit. The mood of the nation lifts.

Still, there’s a pang of guilt when you’re stuck working indoors, catching only a sliver of sun from a darkened room.

And then, inevitably, some spoilsport from Met Éireann announces it’ll all be over soon. So making the most of it becomes a kind of pressure.

Last weekend, guilt-free, I made the most of the sunshine. I spent Saturday in brilliantly sunny Broomfield, Malahide, watching both of my daughters play in the GAA mini leagues.

It was a magnificent day for many reasons.

The GAA has faced criticism recently over its insistence that girls wear skorts.

I’ve followed the controversy closely, as the dad of three daughters, two of whom adore the GAA. The decision to cancel an inter-county match between Dublin and Kilkenny, because the girls chose to wear shorts, felt antiquated and tone deaf. There are so many reasons a girl might prefer shorts to a skort.

It’s time the GAA reevaluated this rule and listened to the 83% of female players who say the skort is ‘uncomfortable and inappropriate’.

Richard Hogan's daughter Lizzy Hogan with her under 11 St Sylvester team mates.

As I followed the story, I kept thinking what a shame it is, because the GAA does such incredible work with girls, encouraging them to take part in our national games.

And there I was, on Saturday, sitting in the sunshine, witnessing that work in action: The organisation, the excitement, the skill on display, the support, the coaching from volunteers.

There were high fives after a ferociously contested match and a pipe player at the medal ceremony.

When you stand back and take it all in, you see how vital moments like these are for a child’s development — how connected they feel to their community.

The girls’ smiles as they tucked in to orange slices someone took the time to cut. All just wonderful.

I’m often asked how to build a resilient child. Parents want practical tips. Sure, there are things we can do: Stop solving their problems for them, don’t let them avoid stress, encourage diverse friendships, help them reframe challenges. 

But, really, the best way to build resilience is to involve your child in their community. Because true resilience comes from being part of something bigger than yourself. It’s not a quick fix.

It builds slowly — through the joy and disappointment of winning and losing, through not being picked. Every little win of the ball, a good strike of the hurl, a solo run, reaching in and pulling the ball away from an opponent, every hand pass, every knock: It all adds up to resilience.

Children learn to manage their emotions when the game doesn’t go their way, to show respect when they win or lose.

They also learn how to be physical. For decades, we’ve raised our girls to see themselves primarily as carers.

We taught them that strength was a masculine trait to be avoided. But watching the girls compete on Saturday, I was filled with pride. They were formidable in the tackle. The skill level was exceptional.

The football final was probably one of the most exciting matches I’ve seen in a long time.

Seeing your child being clapped and high-fived as they come off the pitch — whether they are smiling or disappointed — you are witnessing resilience being formed.

You see them viewing themselves differently. They feel valuable. They feel powerful.

I was struck by how much their skills have developed in just a few years. Their confidence in their ability was a joy to see.

That kind of confidence doesn’t just appear. It’s forged in the cold winter months — in every training session, in every carefully planned drill. Every Wednesday and Friday, they’re up there, working on their game, the cold breath hanging in the air, the floodlights casting foggy halos over the astro.

And none of it happens without the coaches, people with full lives who give up their evenings to support these girls, helping them reach their potential.

I always feel a bit emotional watching it all.

That’s the beauty of us as a species — we care for each other, we help each other towards our future selves.

The girls are still too young to grasp how much effort is poured into them.

But, as a father, I see the changes: Their passion; their hunger to improve.

I’ve always loved the GAA. But now it’s a deeper love — an appreciation. Because I can see what it’s done for my daughters. 

To every volunteer at every training session, to those cheering at the sidelines, to the ones reminding the girls to enjoy the game, know this: You are shaping the next generation of strong, confident women.

The work you do will echo through generations. What a gift.