Blob goes to soccer

My kids play soccer. I’m not all together sure how I feel about it. It would be easy for me to simply say that I don’t like soccer. Isn’t that what guys who played football say? The truth is I don’t really understand the game. I mean I know the basic rules of soccer and get the over-all objective. But at the end of the day it still just seems like a whole lot of running and kicking and a whole lot of not scoring. But what the heck, the kids like it, they are pretty good at it and it keeps them from watching the TV. As long as my daughter keeps her shirt on after she scores and my boy doesn’t grow out his hair and throw on a head band, then I’m in…kick and run away.

So last Saturday we arrived at the field at 7:30…the 7:30 that happens in the morning. Did I mention it was Saturday and that the field was not next door or even in our town? Probably also a good time to mention that it was raining. Not Biblical flood raining (although I was sure I spotted a pair of out of place llamas) but raining pretty dang hard. Who cares?! This is Oregon and this is how we like it. So we settle in to our seats and prepare to enjoy our daughter’s game.

The game starts and I do what any awesome soccer parent does...I cheer. Loudly. And a lot. I am showing off my new soccer vocabulary by yelling things like “push up” and “up the line”. I am even sure that I said most of those things at the appropriate time. Admittedly, most of the vocalization was directed, as you might assume, at my daughter. A little extra coaching never hurt. She is, after all, only 9 so of course she needs me to tell her where to be and what to do every minute of the soccer game.

Then she scored. I was happy. And proud.

Then I got this strange feeling.

You know that feeling you had after your first kiss? Or on the first day of summer? Or when you walked out to the tree on Christmas morning? I know, awesome, right?

Well this was the opposite of that.

I was now painfully aware that my cheering had little to do with my daughter. This was all about me. This was about me wanting…no…needing my kid to be the best on the field. Suddenly the family rules about sports, which are “work hard and have fun” were replaced with “be the best and score more goals”. I mean how would it look if somebody else’s kid scores more goals than mine? Or had a better game than mine? I need somebody to tell me how great she is because that must mean I am great too right?...right?

Ugh.

Blob.

I did not invite Blob to the game but here he was doing what he does best…making everything about him. Blob’s ability to taint and tarnish the beautiful and sublime is maddening! Blob is not always about inactivity. Often Blob is about twisting motivation. I mean isn’t cheering for kids a Captain Awesome activity? Well, when we do it for selfish motives, it is actually pretty stinky.

This blog will likely spend plenty of time on kids and sports and the parents that screw it all up but for now let’s keep it simple.

Enjoy watching your kids play. Cheer them on. A lot. Encourage them. Loud is great when it happens for the right reason. Be proud of them without condition…and for the love of Pete…tell them! Love the heck out of them if they hit a homer or strike out. Be their biggest fan. Don’t count their goals, or points or errors. Sit in the rain on an early Saturday morning and go crazy over the fact that your kid…YOUR KID is on the field having a ball.

That my friends, is Awesome.