On our way to our daughter’s house we drive by several soccer fields. This time of year we begin seeing those fields occupied by children of varying ages, along with their parents cheering them on, as they run up and down kicking a soccer ball toward one goal or the other. It reminds us of a time gone by when our kids were young, and our Saturdays were not our own, but predestined by the game of soccer!
We didn’t mind that our kids played soccer. They were having fun. The exercise was good. The skills they learned were valuable from just the gameplay, to the sportsmanship. The first season was fun. The second season was fun, but I’m pretty sure by the third season I was over it!
First of all, both Ben and Mariah played, which meant two games every Saturday. And it wasn’t just the games. It was the practices too. There was at least one practice, sometimes two a week, multiplied by two kids, and before we even got to the weekend I’d been observing some form of soccer four times already! Saturday games sometimes overlapped, which meant Kim and I had to split up, taking two cars to town, so that I could attend one, and he the other, or simply so one of us could leave one game in the middle to get the other child to their game. After game “snacks” required a schedule, so that all moms took a turn at providing something for the team, plus their siblings. You can’t give a popsicle to a child on the team, but not to their brother and sister watching. The anxiety of always worrying whether you would have enough for every child who showed up at the cooler was more stress than I needed on any given Saturday.
Kim coached Ben’s team one year. He was great at it, because for him it was simply a game, and his goal was for the kids to have fun. When the opposing team’s coach came out with a white board, drawing diagrams to show his seven year old superstars plays before the game, Kim rose to the occasion and taught the boys a chant! I don’t remember if they won or lost, but I do remember they enjoyed yelling that chant at the top of their lungs.
Ben and Mariah played for years. I don’t know if they did it because they liked the game, or because their friends played, or because there seemed to be this implied expectation that you were suppose to play soccer in the fall, and then again in the spring if you were really serious. That “really serious” part only happened once, thank goodness! They only played on the Parks & Recreation teams. Kim and I were not interested in them joining a traveling team, though the parental pressure to do so was strong. “If they want to play in high school they have to play on a competitive team now!” Those kids lived and breathed soccer, and so did their parents. Those kids also hosted a Mother’s Day Tournament which lasted “all” weekend. The moms said it was fun, because the dads would set up camp stoves near the field and make pancakes for the moms. If Kim wanted to cook breakfast for me, good for him, but on Mother’s Day it better not involve me having to drag myself out of bed early, get dressed, and balance pancakes and syrup on my lap, as I sit in a camp chair in the middle of a soccer field, scarfing them down quickly, as they rapidly become cold in the chill of morning mountain air! I don’t care how those moms would spin it, I wasn’t convinced, and truly, I don’t think they were either.
By the time Ben was in the 8th grade he decided he was done with soccer. While I asked the obligatory, “Are you sure?”, inside I was cheering “Yes, yes, yes!”, and doing a happy dance! Mariah decided she was done as well. Thank goodness! Now Saturdays could be Saturdays. We could have a plan for the day, or just roll with it. Free at last! Free at last!
So fast forward to the present. We’ve informed our kids that if they want to enroll their kids to play soccer that is their business, but MeeMaw and Paw would not be attending every Saturday morning game. Don’t ask, it is not going to happen, and we refuse to feel guilty. We will make a few games during the season. A specific number to be determined by Kim and I when the time comes. Besides, in Florida who knows how long soccer season is. This isn’t snow country. You can play year-round here, God forbid! We are not bad grandparents. We try to attend as many things that our grandkids are involved in as possible. There’s swimming lessons, gymnastics, Gymboree, and preschool activities, but we can’t be there all the time, and truthfully we probably shouldn’t be. This is their time. We did our time. Er, um, I mean, we had our time.
What is the deal with public restrooms? Who designs those things? I’ve been in upscale restaurants and museums where they are quite nice; very comfortable, above and beyond useful, but all I really care about is that they work, and they’re reasonably clean. Well, maybe that isn’t quite true. User friendly might be considered when someone, whoever they are, designs them.