The Reluctant Soccer Mom
Yesterday I prayed for rain. Southern California has been pretty dry, but it wasn't my desire to end a drought. I was just trying to get out of spending my day at the soccer field in Santa Ynez.
Soccer is not my favorite sport.
I've never watched a game on television. And until three years ago, the only soccer players I could name were Pele and Mia Hamm. (Now that David Beckham lives in the same state as me, I've added his name to my mental filofax of famous soccer players.)
I'm married to a man who loves sports, but even for him, soccer is a stretch. Baseball, football, basketball, Indy cars--these are the sports that rate with Craig. But for some reason, our Saturdays from September to November inevitably revolve around that small black-and-white soccer ball.
It started with my son. We enrolled him in an indoor pee-wee soccer class through a local YMCA when he was three
years old, simply because it was the only sport available for his age group at a time that fit our schedules. I have never laughed as hard as I did during the four weeks he took that class. Those little guys had no idea what was going on, but they ran their hearts out and had fun.
Two years later we signed up for AYSO, otherwise known as, All Your Saturdays are Ours. My husband even volunteered as a coach. I couldn't believe it. I was officially a soccer mom.
Now, I'm not sure who came up with that "soccer mom" moniker. But I'm pretty sure it's meant in a rather derogatory way. I'm also pretty sure that whoever came up with the name has not experienced the joy of a child who loves to play soccer. I love my son, but he's no athlete. He's not the one chasing down the ball or making all the goals. Sometimes I wonder why he even insists on signing up for it every year. I finally asked him why he likes to play soccer. He looked at me like I was missing the point, which I guess I was. "Because it's fun," he said. "It's my favorite sport to play because it's fun."
My daughter started playing soccer last season. The first time they played a game, Jasmine scored four goals. My hands hurt from clapping. My son ran up and down the sidelines, cheering louder than anyone else on the field, immensely proud of his sister. After the game, he turned to me and said, "She scored more goals in her first game than I did my whole last season! She's really good!"
I smiled. She was good because of him, because even though he's not an athlete, he would play soccer with her in the backyard as soon as she could kick a ball. Because of him, she had been going to soccer games every autumn of her life. Because of his influence, she would kick and dribble on the sidelines during his games. Because of him our family had discovered a new way to bond, not only with each other, but with other parents in our community. Because he had fun playing soccer, he had shared that joy with his sister.
I still might be praying for rain later in the season, especially if one of my children has a 7:30 a.m. game--it's just wrong to schedule soccer that early on a Saturday morning! But when my daughter starts whining because it's hot or pestering me every ten minutes about when her game will start, I'll just try to smile and patiently redirect. I've made my own goal for this soccer season. I'm going to remember what my son has taught me. They don't play soccer to win or lose. They don't get up early every Saturday morning because there's nothing else to do. They play because it's fun.
And everybody needs to have a little fun, don't they?
Soccer is not my favorite sport.
I've never watched a game on television. And until three years ago, the only soccer players I could name were Pele and Mia Hamm. (Now that David Beckham lives in the same state as me, I've added his name to my mental filofax of famous soccer players.)
I'm married to a man who loves sports, but even for him, soccer is a stretch. Baseball, football, basketball, Indy cars--these are the sports that rate with Craig. But for some reason, our Saturdays from September to November inevitably revolve around that small black-and-white soccer ball.
It started with my son. We enrolled him in an indoor pee-wee soccer class through a local YMCA when he was three
years old, simply because it was the only sport available for his age group at a time that fit our schedules. I have never laughed as hard as I did during the four weeks he took that class. Those little guys had no idea what was going on, but they ran their hearts out and had fun.
Two years later we signed up for AYSO, otherwise known as, All Your Saturdays are Ours. My husband even volunteered as a coach. I couldn't believe it. I was officially a soccer mom.
Now, I'm not sure who came up with that "soccer mom" moniker. But I'm pretty sure it's meant in a rather derogatory way. I'm also pretty sure that whoever came up with the name has not experienced the joy of a child who loves to play soccer. I love my son, but he's no athlete. He's not the one chasing down the ball or making all the goals. Sometimes I wonder why he even insists on signing up for it every year. I finally asked him why he likes to play soccer. He looked at me like I was missing the point, which I guess I was. "Because it's fun," he said. "It's my favorite sport to play because it's fun."
My daughter started playing soccer last season. The first time they played a game, Jasmine scored four goals. My hands hurt from clapping. My son ran up and down the sidelines, cheering louder than anyone else on the field, immensely proud of his sister. After the game, he turned to me and said, "She scored more goals in her first game than I did my whole last season! She's really good!"
I smiled. She was good because of him, because even though he's not an athlete, he would play soccer with her in the backyard as soon as she could kick a ball. Because of him, she had been going to soccer games every autumn of her life. Because of his influence, she would kick and dribble on the sidelines during his games. Because of him our family had discovered a new way to bond, not only with each other, but with other parents in our community. Because he had fun playing soccer, he had shared that joy with his sister.
I still might be praying for rain later in the season, especially if one of my children has a 7:30 a.m. game--it's just wrong to schedule soccer that early on a Saturday morning! But when my daughter starts whining because it's hot or pestering me every ten minutes about when her game will start, I'll just try to smile and patiently redirect. I've made my own goal for this soccer season. I'm going to remember what my son has taught me. They don't play soccer to win or lose. They don't get up early every Saturday morning because there's nothing else to do. They play because it's fun.
And everybody needs to have a little fun, don't they?