It’s Tuesday afternoon. He runs into my room wearing cleats, shin guards and socks that are so long on his still tiny legs that they reach up over his knees and need to be folded over. I sigh and follow him down the stairs and out into the garage, and before I get in and turn the key in the ignition, I put a hand on his cheek. “You going to have fun and listen, right?”
He nods. I take a deep breath and hope it will be different, but some things either don’t change, or aren’t going to change for a long time. He’s no more a soccer player than I’m a soccer mom.
Jim.
That’s part of the problem: me. I’m an abject failure at this so far. Last Tuesday, we had three kids that had to make it to practice at 5:30 p.m., and the practices were in three locations. Our daughter rode with neighbors, and I drew the easiest lot: taking our middle son, Jim, to his practice.
I paced around and fidgeted and tried to watch Jim run through his drills. I talked to other moms. And then, at 6:15, I checked my watch. Practice was ending at 7, which meant I had time for a 3-mile run. Twenty minutes later, I paused in the thick early September air and checked my watch. It was 6:33, which gave me plenty of time to make it back to the fields with ten minutes to spare. I smiled. Damn, was I on my game, for once.
As I loped back onto field eight a little bit later, a sense of panic overtook me. Those aren’t the same kids, I realized.
Then I heard a little voice screeching my name, “Mom!”
I caught a glimpse of my son standing on the running board of a tan SUV. What the hell is going on, I muttered, and before I could ask the coach what happened, my husband drove up in his black sedan, and smiled at me. The coach had called him because, well, practice had ended at 6:30. I apologized of course, but I felt awful.
At Wendy’s an hour later, I looked over my diet soda at my husband. “How did it go?”
He shook his head. And then, with a bemused smile, he replied, “Ben went searching for fossils.”
I chuckled. “Fossils?”
“Yeah. And when the team scrimmaged, he walked off the field, in search of four leaf clovers.”
“Oh.”
“Yeah,” he nodded, his facial expression switching between laughter and frustration. “And then, when the coach told the kids to run around the field, he was in the lead. Then he stopped to look at something. And then, when he ran next to his teammates, they turned left, to follow the field, and he turned right, ran down a hill, and in the opposite direction from everyone else.”
I covered my eyes and giggled. “Wow.”
Ben.
“Will you please take him next time?”
I looked over at my children, who were busy eating and elbowing each other. “I’ll take him to his game Saturday.”
Fast forward to Saturday’s game. I fidgeted and paced and observed Ben doing anything on the field but playing soccer. He never even touched the ball. When it came his way, he seemed to run in the opposite direction. He bent over in search of bones, fossils, pretty crystals (rocks) and four leaf clovers.
Seeing a couple of dads running around the fields, I joined them. Maybe if I help out, I can get Ben engaged, or so I thought. I had no effect on Ben, other than to confuse the hell out of him. The other dads ignored me. It felt like I was invisible. And then the ball flew toward me, and I’ve replayed this over and over again, because I’m not sure if I did this on purpose or was completely passive when the ball hit me in the hip. I suspect that it was a little bit of both. I’m a lifetime athlete, and when a ball comes my way, my instinct is to go and get it. This instinct to go for the ball is every bit as strong as a border collie’s instinct to herd, or a golden retriever’s inability NOT to chase after an object in flight.
Whatever I did or didn’t do, I wasn’t expecting what happened. The other dad on the field helping our team, an assistant coach, yelled at me to get off the field. “Let the kids play.” And so, with my head down and my face and neck turning even redder than the sun was making them, I headed off the field, where my in-laws sat.
“That was your fault,” my father-in-law snapped at me as he caught me muttering a protest under my breath. “You should not have gotten in the way of the ball. This isn’t your game.”
I stood there, several feet away from him, and tried to listen to this friend of mine, this dad who always has a story to tell, but I couldn’t follow him. Tears were falling down my face, and even though my dark sunglasses hid my eyes, he could see me shaking all over.
“Hey,” he whispered, as he reached out and put a hand on my shoulder. “It’s okay. I’ve been ordered off the field before. To be honest, you did get in the way of the ball.”
“I know,” I sobbed, barely able to speak, “But I’m so embarrassed. Why did he have to do that? Yell at me in front of everyone else? And then my father-in-law has gotta pile on, and he’s never said a nice word to me, not ever.” I cried harder and harder, and my friend listened and tried to make me feel better.
“I’d give you a hug,” he added, his eyes moving from the field to me and back to the field, “But I don’t wanna embarrass you.”
“Thank you,” I whispered.
Sometime in the middle of this, my daughter had arrived, still wearing her soccer uniform from her earlier game. She tried her best to make me feel better, and I tried my best not to cry in front of her. After the game ended, I tracked down the assistant coach, and with tears again falling, I asked him not to ever yell at me in public, and explained about my son, and how he’s doing his best. And so was I.
Maddie.
As I touched Ben’s cheek on Tuesday afternoon, all of this flashed through my mind, and I knew it wouldn’t be any better at practice, but I knew I wouldn’t love my son any less. Sure enough, we couldn’t find the practice field, and I was too anxious and nervous to ask anyone. We were a few minutes late. And we forgot our ball. And Ben ran in the wrong direction of the ball, searched for four leaf clovers, hung off the goal posts, and barely a soccer ball.
When it was over, he asked me how he did. With his gray-blue eyes looking very blue, he chirped, “Am I a good soccer player, Mom?”
I looked down into his eyes and thought of my friend, the dad who put a hand on my shoulder when I cried tears of humiliation and frustration at Ben’s game on Saturday, and I smiled. I wrapped my arm around his shoulders and kissed his head. “I love you.”
“But am I a good soccer player?”
I’m not a fan of lying to my son. The truth is, he’s no more a soccer player than I’m a soccer Mom. And in the grand scheme of things, that’s okay. And we’re going to be okay.
I smiled at him. “I love you.” With eyes shielded from the setting sun, I held his hand and we rambled off to face the close of another day.
El, I’m sitting here crying because you are telling my story, too. We called C “The Daisy-Picker” because he’s pluck the clover flowers instead of playing the soccer. Then came B, who couldn’t even stay close enough to his spot on the field to pick flowers. Believe me when I say this is harder for you than it is for him.
As for answering his question, I would say something like this. “You’re still learning. And no one is really good when they’re a beginner. But if you like it, and you have fun doing it, then we’ll practice, and learn the rules, and you’ll become a good player. I’m proud of you for trying.” And I’d find one of the assistant coaches to talk to, or perhaps an older boy who can give him some guidance, and get him an ally on that field. A mentor of sorts.
Continue to encourage him, and if soccer’s not his thing, try another thing. C liked lacrosse, because the fast pace suited him. Both of my ADD kids learned to run cross country at a young age. And what better running partner could you possibly have than your little Ben.
Athletics might not be his thing. It’s not my B’s. It took me a little while to get fluent with “He does musical theater” as the answer to “What sport does your son play?” But I did, because it makes him so happy, and he’s good at it. On the stage, he shines. And we all need a place to shine.
Thank you so much, dear friend, for listening and understanding and being such an amazing resource and support for me and Ben. I love what you suggested to tell him! And I really like the cross-country idea. He runs with such abandon and athletic grace, so I hope he does enjoy the sport. And yeah (smiling) he might just love theatre–man, he is a funny, entertaining kid! xoxo
That’s such a good point. We learned the flower-picking way that “traditional” sports weren’t the Maiden’s thing. Still trying to understand why an ADHD kiddo is drawn to ballet, dance, and theater–but that’s where she’s keen. Go figure!
What’s with the tears today? I must be in a mood. You made me cry too.
This was so brutally honest.
Aw, thank you so much Teresa!!
What an incredibly touching story, El! Wow!
Also, I’m probably lucky soccer wasn’t as big where/when I grew up as it is now… grabbing the ball and striking a ‘Heisman pose’ is frowned upon in this sport, right? See… I would have been in serious trouble.
Thank you so much Spilled Ink!! I am giggling over the Heisman pose–which I so can imagine Ben doing while he runs in the opposite direction of the ball!
God bless you, sweetheart. You are such a WONDERFUL mom. I love you!
Thank you so much Trece!!! I love you too!
Good lord, crying here too. So much love and tenderness for you and for them. maybe even for me.
Wow…this was so beautifully written and honest. If I’d been yelled at in public that way, I would have been crying my eyes out too.
And I don’t think you could have given a better answer to your son. Soccer is just a game, but the fact that you love him, that’s what’s going to matter in the end.
Hello Marcy–so good to see you here!! And thank you so very much for your kind remarks. I really don’t like to be chewed out in public–grrr. I hope you have a lovely weekend!!
Dear El,
For what it’s worth, I used to play left field in Little League and can clearly remember constantly searching the weedy outfield for fossils, treasures and other artifacts sure to be there if only I persevered and kept at it. Only the crack of bat on ball saved me from myself as I was usually able to look up and track down any ball headed my way.
There’s nothing wrong with either of you. (But, then, you know that already.)
As to the answer to Ben’s question, just tell him you think he’s the best soccer player in the world. And he is, because I’ll bet no other players can hunt fossils and play soccer at the same time.
Aloha,
Doug
Dear Doug,
I can easily imagine you searching through the weeds for fossils–the image makes me grin. I love the belief that a treasure lies buried, and will be uncovered through sheer perseverance.
Aw thanks.
And I like your response to Ben!!
Aloha!
El
Oh El, you are a wonderful mom.
I am crying with you. Clovers and fossils are good, marvelous in fact. Maybe he will be an Archaeologist when he grows up and find very cool and wonderful lost cities. Maybe Atlantis!
I am sorry the assistant coach was an Azzhat with no social skills and that the ball found your hip, stupid ball.
Believe when I tell you this will get easier and better. Coordination of practice and games will happen. Children will figure out where they fit in to it all, they always do.
Hugs….Great and huge hugs to you and your wonderful children
Val
And you, my friend, are a wonderful friend. Thank you so much for caring and for your kind thoughts above. I do think Ben will find his way into a very interesting career. He’s special–in a good way. And yes, my gosh, it MUST get easier. Hey, practice makes perfect, right? xoxo ~el
El, I was right there with you throughout your story. I could feel the sting, the tears…and especially the love only a mama’s heart knows.
Aw, thank you so much hun. Yep: the love only a mama’s heart knows. Sigh.
As I think I mentioned, we had pretty similar experiences with the Maiden’s forays into soccer and baseball (ironically, it was a MORE structured activity that suited her)–I feel your pain! Nothing worse than being the parent of The Child Who Doesn’t, right? But at the same time, nothing more wonderful. xo
Yes! Nothing better, and nothing worse, that being that parent! I love how different he is–even when it makes me groan–I love him all the more for it! xoxo
I loved reading this heartfelt post, El! Maycee never wanted to play soccer, the go-to sport it seems for little ones. Some kids, I know, just love it, but other kids have other passions and talents. I sort of let Maycee direct me towards her own likes…not to mention there was no way I could do the schedule of a soccer mom with my work schedule. So, knowing she has ALWAYS loved animals, I looked into the horse riding and BINGO! And, Maycee is also very creative, so being an artist myself, I’m able to connect with her on that, as well. Little Ben, he’s so sweet, I can feel it through your words. I think your response was spot-on. If Ben just loves being on the soccer field (no matter what he’s actually doing on the field), then let it be…if he gleens towards something else down the road…then let it be…My dad used to push me to be this and be that when I was a kid, and my mom (thanks, mom) tried to tell him, “Just let Kasey be Kasey!” Thanks for sharing this experience for those of us just like you-the non-soccer-moms.
XOXO-SWM
SWM: thank you so much!! OMgosh! The soccer mom schedule is already killing me (giggle). I love that you followed Macey’s interests into the riding ring and horses. And yes, my Ben is so sweet and creative too. With a child like him, we gotta let him lead and gently help direct him toward his real passions. I like that your mom said to let Kasey be Kasey!! How wonderful is that?! Ha re us non-soccer moms!! xoxo ~el
El, I know how you feel…my dear daughter has played soccer for 6 years, and to be honest she’s not very good at it…but she has fun! I work with her and we play and have fun. When she was little and asked, like your son, “Am I a good soccer player?” my honest answer was …”You’re an amazing soccer player.” No lie in it at all. To me she has always been, and will always be…AMAZING! As long as she tried her best I was more then happy. I was the VERY LOUD dad on the sidelines cheering his daughter and the entire team on no matter what. I was never embarassed to be cheering for all the kids no mater what happened!
Aw Zeke!! Thank you re knowing how I feel. I love that you were the very loud dad on the sidelines, cheering no matter what!! Good on you!! And I adore your answer to her when she was little!! So good to see you here!!!
Hey El,
You could have been telling my story too. My son once kicked his shoe across the field but that was as close as he ever came to kicking anything else. He went to a German Immersion school and there was one dad who was always yelling at my son in German. I remember telling him that being cruel made him an asshole in any language. My husband went to the games after that. You are an awesome mom! Just keep loving him. Best to you!
Aw hun. Thank you for that story about your dear son. And thank you for standing up to the asshole who was yelling at your son. I am shaking my head as I type this, and also smiling a little bit. You’re an awesome mom too! Good on you, and thanks for your kind note! ~el
I’m sorry you had such a rough time. I can stand when anyone yells at me in public. It’s so humiliating. But I think you handled it well. And I think you are handling things so well with all the kids separate activities. And I love what you said to Ben because you didn’t lie. You told the absolute truth–that you love him. That’s way better than being a good soccer player.
Thank you so much Kourtney. Yeah, wow, I really hate being yelled at in public!!! Thank you so much re talking to Ben. I would so much rather tell them the truth, which I think I can always do without being cruel if that makes sense. Have a great night!
Our oldest son doesn’t pay attention during sports. (It does make sports like baseball and volleyball kinda dangerous.) Our other son amazes me during soccer. He is on top of the ball 98% of the game. He also falls about fifty times per game, and them pops right back up like it never happened. It actually astounds me that he’s our kid. My daughter doesn’t play any sports yet, but I’m curious what she’ll be like.
I’m impressed that you actually told the coach not to yell at you. I probably would have just walked off, and then made a point of never speaking to the guy again.