My oldest daughter has followed in her dad’s footsteps and become a soccer player. She plays for strictly recreational purposes. We believe that running, learning a skill and working together as a team are important life lessons as well as a way to stay healthy. We have been fortunate to be on teams with nice, down to earth parents but occasionally we have had to deal with parents who take the game a little too seriously. Nothing was ever so evident, as when my daughter was in Mother Goose soccer.
We signed her up when she was in preschool at the Boys and Girls club in our old hometown. She was put on the age 3-6 team and we were without a coach. If you have read any of my other posts, you will know that this was during the tough period of our lives. My husband was working two jobs while going to school full time. We were also on a tight budget and I was mostly on my own, raising our two girls.
A friend from our preschool, also signed her son up and here we were in the heat of the evening sun, waiting for a coach to show up. We were all exhausted. Each and every parent there, most of them with multiple children, excited for our children’s first soccer experience as well as dealing with all the other million things we had going on. For the first time in a long time, I felt exactly where I belonged.
In walks this young, fancily dressed mom. She is wearing the latest trends, designer sunglasses, matching purse, high heels and her three-year-old son is in name brand sports clothing. She is beautiful and confident, looking as if she doesn’t have a care in the world. She is so overly excited for this opportunity. She starts bragging about her son, how he shows such promise in being a professional soccer player and how he was born with such talent. We just look at her and nod wondering how she can look that good and have a three-year-old.
She becomes extremely irritated over our lack of coach. One of the youth directors ends up taking over the first practice and she offers to help which we all thought was wonderful. The team needed help and she was the only one who appeared mentally able to handle such a task.
Afterwards, she loudly lets us all know, that it’s important as parents that we help out at practice. I was trying really hard to be objective but honestly, the only thing I was asking myself is, “Is she for real?” Each and every parent there had other kids to take care of. Most of us barely survived the drive there. I started referring to her in my mind as Fancy Mom.
Our second practice, we were still without a coach. My husband, bless his heart, takes time out of his schedule to make it to her practice. We watch the kids play, kick the ball in all directions, run away from the goal posts and in general horse around. Fancy Mom complains about the lack of dedication and claims that’s why her little son is crying in the corner of the field. I wanted so badly to remind her that he’s only three but I politely kept my mouth shut. She takes it upon herself to round up a coach. She approaches each Dad there and finally gets to my husband.
He politely tells her. “I’m sorry. I’m a full time student. There is no way I can coach at this point in my life.”
“Well, I work long hours and still get here!” She tells him. “Kids always come first.”
Whatever, lady! We finally get our coach and he isn’t what Fancy Mom is expecting. He’s a kind man with a little daughter about the same age as mine with a practical approach to coaching. He was just pleased if he could get all the kids to stand in line and take turns kicking the ball. Coaching preschoolers is the equivalent to herding cats. He’s also coaching his son’s baseball team so they are often late for practice.
Sometimes the wife would take over coaching. She had a hilarious and unpolished attitude towards parenting. One time during practice my daughter was complaining about spilled water on the bench. When my daughter refused to wipe it up, she sits on it, moves her bottom around, wiping it up with the seat of her pants and making all the kids howl with laughter.
Another time, the coach came with an energy drink and left it on the bleachers in front of all of us. His daughter came over and took a drink out of it. She looks up at all our faces, puts it down and tells us. “Don’t worry, it’s not beer!”
I start to snicker and I look over to see Fancy Mom rolling her eyes. Her son, by the way, is sitting on the bench crying. I’m willing to bet, her dreams of him winning the World Cup, are slowly being dashed.
Towards the end of our soccer session. We watch our daughter finally show a bit of progress. She’s running hard after the ball. My fingers are crossed that she makes a goal. Suddenly, something in the rafters of the gym catches her eye, she looks up and stops running. She points and soon the other children stop running and are looking as well.
From the bleachers, all the parents are craning their necks to see what is up there. There is a ball stuck in the rafters of the gym, a quite impressive feat and we all start laughing! Fancy Mom puts her face in her hands as her child is among the onlookers. Finally, she accepts the fact that her child may just be too young and not emotionally ready and pulls him out. Wherever she is today, I hope she’s still taking charge and that her son is playing! I’m continuously in awe of mom’s that have the energy to get involved.
My daughter has now been playing for six years. I’ve watched her progress from the Mother Goose days where it was a miracle if she ran in the right direction, to a fearless goalie and awesome defender. I’ve had the privilege of watching dozens of little girls, develop skills from the very beginning to their moments of excellence, where they make goals and overcome challenges. I’ve met some incredible parents and some amazing coaches. For me, this is what soccer is all about. It’s a community, not a competition.
