"Soccer"

05/07/2001

Wow. This past weekend went by fast. Saturday morning I went to see my son play soccer on a team for the first time. He joined late in the season, and only because his little friend across the street was playing, so his first game was the weekend I was in Texas.

First, the fatherly pride... he was soooo cute in his little soccer gear standing out there on the field. Yes, I took some pics, but not many. I got too caught up in cheering and kept forgetting, so I'll probably post them at the end of the season.

Second, the fatherly reality... I don't think we're going to have to worry about scouts banging down the door anytime soon. I think he was excited because I was there because he kept watching the sidelines, or walking around in his own little world, rather than paying attention to where the ball was. A couple of times, the ball came within inches of his leg, but from behind him because he was facing the wrong way. *sigh*

Now don't get me wrong, I was very proud of him and had a constant litany of "This is so cool! That's my boy out there!" running through my head. It's mostly that he doesn't know any better. He's only been to like three practices and let's face it, organized sports resembles nothing close to how we play soccer in the front yard. Although using the term "organized" to describe eight little kids (four to a team) running around half a soccer field may be stretching things. I've already started to try and impliment some rules into our play like "No, Daddy's goal area is not from the corner of the house to the street." (a distance of about 40 feet). Not that I ever played soccer, that was my brother's sport, but it looks like I'll be learning.

Actually that's one of the things I remember most about my father and one of the big reasons I was so happy to have a son. My father was never much of an athlete either, even though we're totally opposite in body size and style. He was a sprinter in high school. 5 foot 8 inches of wiry speed. But no matter what sport I was interested in, he would buy books and pamphlets full of rules and equipment specifications so he could, if not coach, at least show me what to do at home. Swimming, baseball, softball, basketball, football, track... he coached me through them all. I'm rather proud, not only of him, but that no one had to tell me why he read all those books and encouraged me without pushing. I knew it was because he loved me. It would be very poor payment indeed if I didn't do the same for his grandson.