Does the P.&G. Olympics Ad Have You Dreaming of Glory by Proxy? Don't. Has Proctor & Gamble's "Pick Them Back Up campaign brought a tear to your eye yet? It's a powerful combination of exhilarating sports imagery, dramatic music and tender moments between mothers and kids. Moms encourage their kids to get back up after various athletic setbacks, from faceplanting on the ice rink as tots to recovering from injuries as teens, then finally sharing the sweet taste of victory with their adult daughters and sons. But take a closer look, and see if the spell doesn't wear off. Where are the fathers? Where are any people of color? Heck, where are the brunettes? As the primary caregiver to my twin preschoolers, I have come to regard not being marketed to as a blessing. But the exclusion of dads from these viral ads reinforces constrictive gender roles in families - a benefit to no one. It should go without saying that an ad with a huge cast and not a single non-white face is just as disturbing. I had hoped the Olympic sponsor wouldn't snub men again this year (the ad bears a remarkable resemblance to 2012"s "Thank You, Mom"), but fine. I give. In Proctor & Gamble's world, Mom is the martyr who gives up everything for her child's success, and Dad is...elsewhere. So let's ask a different question: do we really want to glorify this kind of sacrifice for sport? Among my friends on social media, I have seen several versions of this response to the ad: "Now I feel rotten for not getting up at 5 a.m. every day to take my kids to practice." To which this passionate skier says: Please don't. During my early childhood, I lived on a United States Army base in a German town known mainly for one iconic ski run. Scenes from the "Pick Them Back Up" spot were familiar to me: My mom (and dad) steered my sisters and me down the "dope slope" hundreds of times, often despite our tears and professed hatred for the sport. But my parents stuck to it, and soon all of us kids were avid skiers. I entered races for American military families and started collecting medals. Along with my best friend - the general's kid - I competed against much faster Germans in the "Biggest Kid's Race in the World." I placed seventeenth, and my friend placed third. But I hardly ever got to ski with my best friend after that. My family would travel in our rusted-out Audi, on a shoestring budget, to classic ski resorts and sketchy mom & pop ski hills all over Europe. My friend's mother took him to lessons, practices and races. I assumed that he enjoyed it. We lost touch after my family moved, and I never saw my old friend standing on an Olympic podium, as I always thought I would. The years we spent in Germany were the best of my childhood, and my fondest memories of that time are on the slopes with my family. I was sometimes envious of my friend's cool new gear and opportunities to hone his racing skills, but I knew my parents didn't have the money or inclination to push me in that direction. They scrimped and saved for lift tickets, and we kids usually had hand-me-down gear and mismatched mittens. But the sacrifices they made weren't so their kids could be champions, they were made so that we could have amazing experiences as a family. Although we never lived near good skiing again after we left Germany, we took ski trips together when we could, and my parents eventually retired in a ski town and have been able to teach a new generation of grandchildren the sport. My kids will be hitting the slopes for the first time when we visit my parents next month. If they turn out to be prodigies, maybe we'll move to Colorado and organize our lives around their skiing careers. But I doubt it. The "Pick Them Back Up" ads feature some powerful sports-and-life lessons imparted by moms about perseverance, overcoming obstacles, dealing with disappointment and recovering from disasters. Those are things every parent hopes their children will learn. But I'd just like to say thanks, Mom and Dad, for showing me that recreational sports can be a beautiful way for families to connect and for letting me learn those lessons somewhere else. Andy Hinds is a stay-at-home dad, writer, teacher and carpenter. He blogs at Beta Dad, and contributes to DadCentric. Follow him on Twitter at @betadad.