With a few years of experience behind us, we parents tend to think we have a pretty good handle on our childrens’ personalities.

We think we know most of our kids’ strengths and weaknesses, their likes and dislikes, essentially what makes them tick and why.

And when some of those interests happen to fall roughly along stereotypical sex lines — the old Tonkas-for-boys and Barbies-for-girls business — well, what’s wrong with a little simplicity while navigating the otherwise confusing labyrinth called parenthood?

We didn’t necessarily steer them toward their interests — not all of us, at least, and not consciously. You can lead kids to the toy box but you can’t make them choose.

All on his own, my 10-year-old son evolved into a sports nut, entranced by any display of athletic endeavor, live or televised. The world to him is a big, colorful ball that conveniently comes in several sizes and shapes to suit the season. My 8-year-old daughter, outside of a healthy interest in playing in a Saturday soccer or softball game, has always taken an equal delight in an afternoon playing dress-up with a best friend in an upstairs bedroom — one that is off-limits to such intruders as sports-crazy brothers.

So it has gone until now: a son incapable of walking away from a TV set that is showing a game, any game; a daughter incapable of watching one for five minutes without getting antsy and reaching for the crayons. Then one day, the little girl I thought I knew jolts me from my parental complacency by becoming a hockey fan. Hockey, of all things. Fast, brawling, steel-edged, body-crashing, slap-shotting, rough-and-tumble hockey.

In the last couple of years, I have been the fortunate recipient of two free University of Maine hockey tickets on occasion. During last year’s championship frenzy, the hard-to-get tickets were rare gems. To my son, they meant a deliriously happy night of rockin’ n’ rollin’ rinkside with his father and a shrieking crowd. His claim to one of the tickets went unchallenged; his sister considered hockey to be raucous and baffling and wholly uninteresting — not worth a glimpse. She much preferred her special nights of pizza and a movie with her mother.

Eventually, however, she grew curious about the glow in her brother’s face whenever he returned from a game. Perhaps there was something to these male-centered hockey nights after all, she thought, something worth investigating. Claiming equal time, she asked to go one night in her brother’s place.

“It’s an experiment,” she said, glancing sideways at her scowling brother. “If I don’t like it, I just won’t bother to go again. If I like it, I guess we’ll have to take turns.”

She didn’t like it after all. She loved it, every electrified minute. The roaring crowd, the thunder of stomping feet in the bleachers, the bellowing insults hurled at the refs, the sea of upraised fists signalling a goal for our team. Unsure of fan protocol, she was shy at first about making noise of her own. Soon, however, she was leaping to her feet and cheering loudly, even joining the choruses of groans coming from a band of crazed frat boys over every missed scoring opportunity.

“Just let it out,” I said with mild surprise.

Startled as two entangled players slammed full-speed into the boards, their sticks clacking and their faces smushed in painful contortions against the glass, she shouted above the din, “They can do that? Whoa!”

Her fists were balled with excitement, and in my sweet daughter’s eye was a glint I had not seen before. Must have been the light reflected from the rafters. Could it possibly have been the bloodlust of the hockey fanatic? Nahh. The last time I checked, she was playing queen of the ball, waltzing around the house in costume jewelry and oversized gold high heels.

When we pulled into the driveway at home, she raced ahead of me into the house. Her brother instantly poked his head around a corner and stared expectantly at the interloper, the usurper of his once-proud throne up at Alfond Arena.

“So?” he asked in an abrupt tone. “Did you like the hockey game or what?”

She beamed radiantly. “Oh, yeah. I really, really did. So, I guess we’ll be taking turns now,” she said as her brother snorted and went back to watching his movie.