A family first

Today was a milestone in family maturity for us. We started soccer. Not for the year, but actually just started for the first time. Neither Abby nor Ben had ever played in any organized way and I wanted them to play and not get behind their peers.

I never played growing up, but in my global wanderings I’ve often been pulled into matches only to demonstrate my football lameness.^† I’d either get totally outmaneuvered or just kick with wild abandon, batter other people’s shins and then play it off to American inexperience. I think that too many people in America play now so that technique won’t work for much longer so I figure our kids need to at least learn the basics. Ben, who has not shown much of a predisposition for balls or sports, caught us totally off guard. He jumped right into the practice and then when they started these little games he just went for it, dribbling the ball and scoring a bunch of goals. At 4 years old most of the kids were just wandering around and looking at their parents for some sign as to which way they should be running. The only exception was a little Italian kid who could do these amazing slide kicks and turns. Ben can be sort of aggressive and once someone told him where the goal was, there was no stopping him. Abby absolutely did not want to play and she just started really whining and resisting when we tried to get her to go to the practice. I really insisted that she at least try it, but Jenny didn’t seem to care. This lack of parental unity didn’t help. Jenny and I were essentially arguing about whether a 6 year old was best left to decide whether or not she wanted to play soccer. We eventually gave up and went to eat at a place called Johnny Wu’s. Johnny Wu’s looks suspriciously like Johnny Rockets in basically every respect – menu, décor, uniforms. The food is actually pretty good and the chicken strips, always a kid favorite, were really good – it tasted like they had a bit of cumin in the batter. I’ve found that the combination of my growing experience as a parent and my inherent cheapness has turned me into a relatively indiscriminate consumer of the leftovers on my kids’ plates.

† Note: That said, one of my athletic moments of glory did come as a 7^th grader at Walter Reed Junior High School in P.E. In 7^th grade they had a semester of rotating instruction on a variety of different sports. One day, they pulled out a soccer ball, set up some goals and gave a half-baked demonstration. After that they divided us up into a couple of teams and turned us loose. Basically nobody had done this before and it was like throwing a cat into a pack of feral dogs. Just wild kicking and running around, people falling down and getting kicked and stepped on until the pack stumbled past them. My moment came when the ball suddenly appeared close to me in my section of the pack. I kicked it as hard as I could having no idea what would happen and it sailed above everyone falling into the top corner of the goal. It was the only goal scored before the coaches realized that there were kids lying on the ground with bloody noses and they stepped in to stop the mayhem. Resigned to defeat, they just had us run laps for the last 15 minutes of P.E. This was the last time I remember playing soccer in any sort of formal setting. I was known as a good soccer player for a couple of weeks.