Last week I played cheerleader to my two boys as they played in their first tennis tournament. It is not the first time I have ferried them to competitions — I already spend a small percentage of my life in dank school basements while they compete in chess tournaments.

But unlike the chess tournaments, where parents aren’t allowed in the game room, parents sit center stage during the tennis matches. We can yell “great shot,” or “nice try,” as well as see the frustration, anxiety, and elation as it passes across the children’s faces. Seeing the boys work hard and struggle — and seeing their occasional joys and disappointments — made me all the more joyous when they pulled out a victory, and all the more heartbroken when they lost. The intensity of watching the boys play underscored a prevalent parent’s dilemma: Sometimes, regardless of how much we love our children, and regardless of how much we want our children to flourish, there is little we can do to help them.

This reminded me of the new school year that begins this week. Our country may celebrate the New Year in January, but it is in September that children are offered a chance to start anew.

Minutes into several conversations with different friends this week, I have heard the same refrain. “I just want her to have a good year,” or “He’s practiced so hard this summer, I just hope he makes the team,” or “She finally has that spring in her step — I hope she isn’t in class with that bully again,” or “I hope this is the year he finds something to be passionate about.”

Let’s admit it: We grown-up New Yorkers are a controlling bunch. When something matters to us, we are used to getting our way. Sometimes the desire is as frivolous as getting a Thursday night reservation at Rao’s or Per Se. Sometimes it’s as serious as finding a way to get an appointment with a highly regarded doctor who doesn’t take new patients.

But nothing compares to the intensity we feel when it comes to wanting our children to achieve something that matters to them, to make the team, get the grade, handle the bully, or gain entry into the school of choice. It’s not easy for us as parents to accept our own limitations in our children’s lives. “I am so used to the fast pace of my office and my career, that it’s hard for me to shift gears when it comes to my kids,” a father of two teenagers told me last week. “If I want to make a deal happen, most of the time I feel that if I work incredibly hard, I can pull it off. Ten years ago I thought, along those lines, that I could basically control all aspects of my kids’ lives. I just had to put in the effort. But now I know better. I’m just one piece of a very large puzzle.”

One of my friends said her son had two bad school years in a row, and was hoping for a turnaround. “I have done everything in my power to lay the groundwork for a happier year,” she said. “I’ve spoken to the school. I’ve given my son the help he needs to deal with the obstacles he has faced. Now I just have to sit back and hope a little luck comes his way.”

It’s not just that as our children get older, our ability to control their environment decreases. This shift also coincides with the fact that as our children mature, their struggles become more complicated — and these thornier issues take much longer to resolve.

“I’m one of those crazy people who has a child in high school and a child in nursery school,” a mother of four told me recently. “My 4-year-old’s growth occurs in leaps and bounds, and if I don’t like a certain habit, I feel capable of changing it over the course of a few months.

“I wish I could say the same about my 15-year-old,” she continued. “I can help address her academic issues. But the social ones? The emotional ones? The self-esteem? I keep plugging away, sure, but there are dozens of variables determining how things are going to turn out, and the growth might not be apparent until the spring, if then,” she said.

This time of year, it probably is useful to acknowledge our limitations — right after we remind our children that each school year offers a fresh array of possibilities.