Soccer Goals

Shortly after I saw you play your first soccer game, I had to readjust my expectations for you.    Because, frankly, you’re terrible.    You have the athletic skills- you’re fast, tall, more co-ordinated than anyone with my genes has a right to be at your age- on the field, but you Just Don’t Get It.    You’re absolutely not aggressive, and are mostly content with running 6-8 feet behind the ball, whipping your hair and looking appropriately concerned about what’s going on.      You’d spend lots of time panting and wiping away non-existent sweat.      Best case scenario: the ball would hit you in the legs and you’d take a tentative little poke at it.   And if it drifted off in the correct direction, forget about going after it- you’d done your job and it was up to God now.     You were essentially a traffic cone with cleats. 

And that’s when you are paying attention.   Most of your field time you are concentrating on the next game over, running the wrong way, hugging teammates, or working on victory dances you’ll never get to perform.     A few games ago, you pulled your shirt up and started yelling about “Air Boobies,” which your teammates found hilarious, but wasn’t real helpful in terms of strategy.     I send most of my time fishing the balls out of the back of our net, muttering God-damnit Gracie and threatening to pull you out the game if you weren’t going to try.    I’m kind of that asshole dad.  

All of which was incredibly frustrating because, alone, you can dribble, sort of shoot, and have a basic understanding of what to do.    And you’re a joiner- you love being with the team and rooting everyone on, so you never once thought about quitting.    But your mother did.    I argued against it mainly due to it being a healthy outdoor activity that helped expand your friend base.    And, although we wouldn’t admit it, one of the markers we watched was whether you would ever score a goal.   It was something even you picked up- a couple of times this season you mentioned never scoring, to which I would give the standard good Dad response of “just try hard and play good defense and support your team” which we both knew was bullshit.   

Violet, you, Vivian, Jessie, Annabelle, Holland, Alessandra

Which brings us to this season.    More specifically, the third quarter of the last game of your third season.   Team Glitter Force (yes, you suggested the name based on a favorite cartoon about fairies or something) had a two game 3-on3 “tournament.”   You missed the first game for Girl Scouts, but were rested for the second one.   All of the other girls were dragging ass, and you played great.    Then, in the third quarter, you got a ball about mid-field, dribbled it up the left side and squirted it around some exhausted girl on defense.    It trickled in. 

And I’ll never forget your reaction- complete disbelief.    You stood looking at the goal a few moments as your teammates did a little dance around you and then you turned around with your hand up to your mouth, surprised and a little embarrassed, like you had farted at the table.     I guess you saw me jumping up and down, because you broke into a run and met me in the center circle for perhaps the finest hug of my life.    I realized, as we delayed the game with the other parents looking on, that it was not normal to hug your kid on the field after a goal and that they were probably a little embarrassed for us and I totally did not care.   I wish we could still be in that hug.    You were so happy because I was so happy because you were so happy…..   And, your mother got to see it too from the sideline, so she wouldn’t think we were lying if we told her about it later.   T4 was there too but he didn’t look up from the iPad.  

Then, for good measure, you scored another goal right before your final substitution.   It was literally the last time you touched the ball that season.    And one the way home, I could tell you cared.   You had scored.  It had been worth it.   And I told you that I was just proud of how you tried hard and helped the team, which was true, but felt a lot truer on that ride home.