Playing Up

Have you ever had one of those moments?  You know, the one where you push hard for something to happen, it does, and then you question whether you did the right thing? 

It all began a couple of months ago after I had registered Boy O for the Spring soccer league.  At first it was just a confirmation e-mail and then it was, Dear Parents, your son's team does not have a coach, would you be willing to volunteer your time? I promptly ignored the e-mail assuming someone would be found.  Then the e-mails started to become more frequent and then desperate messages were left on our answering machine: Someone, ANYONE must volunteer, or your son will not get to play.... 

Now, I don't know the first thing about soccer and Daddy O has been super busy at work, so I did what any anally obsessive conscientious parent would do, I panicked.  I called to leave messages at a number no one seemed to answer, I sniped incessantly to my husband about how unfair this was, how Boy O would be so disappointed, how I had already lost the receipt for the new cleats we had bought and then I e-mailed the person who seemed to have the highest rank within the community soccer organization.  I may have bragged about my son a bit, how his indoor soccer league was undefeated, how it wasn't uncommon for him to score over 10 goals etc...I may have painted a picture for him that made Boy O look like an upcoming Pele...I may have said certain people could vouch for his abilities...

And then I got exactly what I asked for.  Boy O was switched to a team of kids that were a year and two years older than himself.  Oh goodness, what did I just do?  What did I get my son into?  Isn't the whole point of participating in activities at this age supposed to be to have fun?  Did I let my anally obsessive driven personality get the best of me?  And who gets to pay for it?  Not me, but my son, who just enjoys playing soccer.  He doesn't care who coaches, he doesn't care if it's anything formal-he just likes to kick a ball around.  I imagined boys twice his size on the team, I imagined his coach serious and harsh, and a bunch of other things I care not to go into...Lesson learned, next time I will just let it go and go with the flow.

As with most things I obsess over, I need not have worried.  His coach is super nice, extra supportive and clearly has an easy going personality but doesn't take too much crap.  His teammates are one to two years older, but they aren't six feet tall and haven't been playing for years. They are after all just six and seven years old  and while they may understand the game a bit better, they still need to work on their listening skills, still enjoy doing cartwheels and other gymnastic skills on the field and still just love to kick the ball around.  He's doing just fine and I think it's great that he can still play the game with kids who are a bit older.  He's not scoring ten + goals anymore, and I swear some of the kids on the other team they played during their first game must have been at least eight years old (or had been coached by David Beckham himself), but he had fun.  And that's what counts.

The destroyer's got destroyed, but it didn't stop Baby O from holding the sign and yelling, GO, GO, GO!

In his element and he did score one awesome goal in his first game:

Number 23 is Boy O-the same number as Michael Jordan.  Different sport, but I think it's a sign of good things to come!