Dancing at My Desk

The Great Soccer Experiment

My 5 year old daughter LOVES soccer. Seriously. She adores it. She didn’t always love it. In fact, last year her team had four games. And she played in one. The last one. All the other games she spent on the bench crying and saying she didn’t want to play. But the last game, she jumped right in and figured that since it didn’t kill her, she’d try it again sometime. Now she’s playing on a new team and can’t wait to get to the field and play. Just the sight of her shin guards sends her into a frantic flurry of exclamations. Plus they’re pink. So that’s a bonus.

Then there’s my son. He’s 3 and he’s a sports nut. He will stay up late (when we let him) to watch an Indians game with his dad or a football game with me. If he gets to chatting with a checkout clerk at the grocery he launches into the long list of sports that he is going to play. “Football, baseball, hockey, basketball, golf and soccer.” Soccer always makes the cut.

So I took it upon myself to sign him up for TOT soccer through a local amateur league here. As we were driving to his first game last week, my husband said to me, “You know he’s going to be one of those kids who runs off the field screaming and crying, right?” I chuckled and desperately hoped it wasn’t true.

In truth, I assumed he would be just like his sister. He would participate in the first 30 minute practice session (where all the kids line up and the coach tells them what to do and the parents walk right next to their kid(s) helping them every step of the way). Then, he would cry during the game and sit on the bench. But, just like his sister, he would get into it the swing of things by the last game and enjoy it immensely.

Well, I’m happy to say that he wasn’t one of the kids who ran off the field screaming and crying. He just never went ON the field because he was screaming and crying. He literally sat in my lap the whole hour and did his best to watch ignore the other kids playing. I heard myself say “We’ll try again next week Buddy,” but I knew deep down he wouldn’t dig it.

Boy was I right. This morning, he cried when I put his shin guards on him. I had a deep sense of foreboding right then and there. As soon as we got out of the car, he dashed into the grass and asked for his soccer ball. I felt hope. I know better.

We watched his sister’s game first (she scored her first goals of the season – way to go V!) and then we headed to his field. The dialogue went something like this:

Me: You ready to play soccer?

I: No.

Me: Why not?

I: I need to take a rest.

Me: You need to take a nap?

I: No. I need to take a rest at the table.

Me: What table?

I: Over there (pointing to the concession stand. Of course).

Me: You can get a snack after the game Pal.

I: I need a donut.

Me: After the game. I want to see you play.

I: I don’t want to play.

Me: Why not?

I: I’m scared.

Me: (Suddenly becoming concerned) What are you scared of?

I: Soccer.

Me: Why are you scared of soccer?

I: I need a donut.

Me: (Sighs)

At one point, my son started to dig into my husband’s pocket asking for money (figures). My husband literally tried to bribe my son with cold hard cash (a penny and nickel no less) to play soccer. I said “You trying to pay him to play? Good luck with that.”

The boy refused. Long story short, we went home. I won’t be one of those parents who scream “GET ON THE FIELD. YOU’LL HAVE FUN!!!” (Mainly because I’ve tried that and it doesn’t work with my kids.) I’ve also considered the whole “You’re-teaching-your-kid-how-to-quit” fiasco. But it’s not like he BEGGED me to play soccer and now he wants to quit. I’m the one who signed him up. He’s 3. He’ll be fine. I have kissed my $20 goodbye on this one and next week I’m not even going to dress him for a game. (I will however, have his guards and shirt in my backpack. You know, just in case.)