“All right kids! Way to hustle!”
I looked up, satisfied to see Lyd hustling and not staring at the sky. It’s just a pre-game practice. Time to take it easy for a few minutes, now where in this bag did I put my Kindle? I looked over at one of Lyd’s teammates’ Moms. She brought her laptop. Smart! I could be writing right now! Ugh. Actually no. It’s just enough day light out here where I’d be struggling to read the screen…and I’d need my reading glasses. Not worth the effort.
“Time for some ball passing exercises! Line up at the hash. What’s that? A grasshopper? I wouldn’t worry about it…everyone? Look up! Everyone? Okay okay, where is it? There. All right kids! The grasshopper is safe! Let’s get back to ball passing exercises!”
“Dang.” I thought as I took a long sip of my coffee, “There’s a special kind of patience needed for a gig like this. Anyway…here’s my Kindle!”
“Hey Brooks.”
“Hey Josh.” (Eh, I wasn’t very committed to the Kindle. I wouldn’t have gotten much reading in anyway)
We shot the breeze and cracked each other up, enjoying our common sense all the while having a running commentary on the team and the coach.
“There’s one part of me that wants to tell her to shake it off when she gets hurt, then there’s the other part of me that wants to be a Daddy.” I nodded slowly in agreement with him.
“Whoa!” I said, “Speak of the devil, it looks like we have some waterworks at center field. What do you think? Is it emotional or physical?”
“Looks physical.”
“Yeah…looks like she bit her lip.” I’m not seeing any paper towels or first aid. I live within walking distance.
“I’ll go grab something!” I called out. The coach nodded to me with gratitude. The lip-biter must have recovered during my run to and from Home. She was laughing and bouncing with the rest of the team, and I was standing there with my roll of paper towels, feeling a little let down, I was denied my little moment for hero-hood. MY incredibly impressive, hurried walk went unnoticed.
Oh well. Thank God kids are good bouncers.
“In soccer, we have rules. One of those rules is to not sit on the ball.” His eyes swept over the team, landing on the kid who decided to sit on the ball to keep it from getting kicked into the net. Good one coach. If we didn’t have the same mission (we all want tired children when this is done), I’d look up the rules concerning ball-sitting in the FIFA rules and regulations book just to be a razzing little jerk. I barely know the coach, does he even have that kind of humor? Better not risk it. I’ll just keep chuckling to myself imagining a rule that specifically forbids a player from sitting on the ball while it’s in play. Better yet, imagining a player breaking that rule at the World Cup.
Maybe I should bring my laptop next time. When’s the actual game supposed to start?
“Daddy!”
“Reggie!” Annie too! “Hey Hun!”
“Hey Babe, so how are they looking out there?”
“They learned to not sit on the ball when it’s in play, and the coach saved the life of a grasshopper.”
“Looks like we’re ready!”
Here comes Lyd, “Hey Lydie! Here have some water. Are you ready to play some Soccer?”
“Uh Huh!”
“Good. Now remember, don’t be afraid to shred them! When the ref isn’t looking, punch, pinch and scratch. The kid will likely react in the same way back at you, by then the Ref is usually starting to turn around and she’ll see that kid trying to hit you, the kid could get ejected from the game! It’s called drawing a foul.”
“Daddy!”
“Yes yes, I am joking. Do not do anything like that! After you get in trouble at the game, then you’ll actually get in a lot of trouble back at Home for doing things like that.”
“I know.”
“Oh, and if a kid goes down, harvest the organs! Those organs are worth money! And they need to be fresh if you want to maintain market value. I have a pocket knife here if you need it. Okay?”
“Daddy!”
“Obviously you’ve never watched The Office. Anyway, I’m kidding again. Go out there and have fun Sweetie!”
So the game began! “Soccer.” I muttered. I’ve stumbled across the occasional professional game on TV and I watched a lot of running around, and well, more running around, and about once every two hours, it looked like a goal was made and everyone freaked out. I have a hard time getting a handle on this game, and it’s not in any way a rip. I actually don’t follow sports in general (I like football, but even then, I don’t build my schedule around game day), but I do have a deep appreciation for the subtleties and displays of skill in pretty much any mastered activity. So…while I am not a soccer fan, I do appreciate it.
Anyway, those tiny snapshot experiences have provided me with the point of reference I operate from, I have something to measure against. Time to find out how good this coach really is.
Wow.
This looks nothing like a professional game. This is a terrible reflection on the coach. That one kid keeps falling over when there is virtually nothing around him. I think perhaps we should petition to have this guy fired.
Annie interrupted my semi-internal mutterings, “Brooks? They have had one practice and this is their first game.”
Yeah…she’s right. Perhaps we’ll let him stick around for a while.
Some other kid fell over and his head hit Lydia in the leg (are these kids drunk?). Yep, tears. She ran crying off the field to us.
“Woohoo! Hun! You just got your first sports injury!”
“He…” (sniff) “Hurt…”(sniff) “My…” (sniff) “Leg!”
“Well the good news is that it doesn’t look too serious. You might have a pretty tough looking bruise to boast about in the morning. Just Shake it…” I looked over at Josh. He was watching the game. Do I toughen her up? Or do I be a Daddy? “Listen Hun, it’s not going to hurt forever. The best part of being hurt is knowing the hurt ends eventually. So let’s dry off your eyes. Now get back out there and be a tough soccer player. Okay?”
“O” (sniff) “kay.” She ran back out. Well, I’m guessing she’ll be a bit tougher by the time this soccer season wraps.
The whistle was blown, the ball was kicked, straight into Lyd’s tiny little chest. I watched her eyes widen in shock, her mouth dropped open, she clutched her chest and dropped to her knees. Next thing you know, Coach was cradle-carrying her off the field, Annie jumped up to meet him. She had the wind knocked out of her, it’s terrifying the first time, scary and upsetting every time after that. For several minutes, she was curled up on Annie’s lap, struggling to get her lungs refilled. It’s okay Sweetie, slow down the breaths, force meaningful air back into you. Smell a flower, blow out a candle. Slower, slower.
She was back in the game after a few minutes, but way more timid around that ball. She’ll get past it eventually.
The next morning, as I’m getting Lyd ready for school (no tough-looking bruise to boast about.) we began talking, “So Hun! You had two injuries that sent you off the field yesterday! One on the leg and one in the chest.”
“Yeah.”
“Now that you are able to look back at it, I want you to choose. If you were only allowed to leave the field once, which injury would you have chosen?”
“The one on the chest.”
“I would have stepped off for that one too. Could you have stayed out on the field with the leg injury?”
“Yeah. It didn’t hurt so much.”
“I thought so as well. So which one was serious? Which one was just an owie?”
“The chest was bad, the leg was an owie.”
“Right. You’re going to get lots of owies as you grow up, and hopefully very few serious injuries. Most owies are not worth stepping off to deal with. Most owies only need you to be brave and tough. All you need to do is fight past the owie and get back to whatever it is you’re doing.” If it’s serious, step off, but if it’s an owie, you ought to try fighting past it. Part of growing up involves getting tougher. Just think of the story about the boy who cried wolf and ask yourself if it’s really a wolf. Okay? So next week, what are you going to do if you get hurt?”
“If it’s just an owie, I’ll be as tough as I can.”
“Love ya!”
“Love you too.”
I suppose this new “Soccer Dad” title will be okay (I still don’t quite get this game).