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"In school you get the lesson and then take the test ... In life you take the test and then get the lesson."
Letter from a Soccer Mom. Please read.
October 24, 2006
I RECENTLY attended my graduation ceremony. Instead of walking across a
stage, though, I walked halfway across a soccer field. Instead of a
diploma, I was handed a single red rose. And instead of my name being
called out, it was my son's that was announced: "No. 6, midfielder Paul
Lombardi
He jogged over with the rose, leaned down to give me a hug and rejoined his
team. I went back to the bleachers with the other moms. This ceremony is a
school tradition. During halftime of the last home game of the regular
season, the seniors on the high school varsity soccer team put on this
brief ritual - a thank-you, an acknowledgment, for all those years, all
that travel and all those hours on the sidelines. We were retiring as
soccer moms.
There is no bigger cliché than "soccer mom." The term has a lot of
pejorative connotations. You know us - we are those women who have nothing
to do but drive our kids to practices and games, who live vicariously
through our children's performance on the field, and who barrel down narrow
roads in oversize vehicles while dispensing snacks and yammering on the
cellphone.
Naturally, I take exception to this stereotype. I have never driven a
minivan or an S.U.V. and hope to continue my adult life without ever doing
so. I have a career that interests me greatly and keeps me pretty busy.
There are only about six people who have my cellphone number, and it
doesn't even matter because I often forget to charge the phone, let alone
turn it on.
What makes me a soccer mom is that I have a son who plays soccer. And what
makes me sad is that my career as a soccer mom is coming to an end. Sure,
Paul might play on a club or on an intramural team in college. But I won't
be there on the sidelines cheering.
And cheering is what I have been doing for more than a dozen years now.
For many suburban children, soccer begins in kindergarten, with those first
American Youth Soccer Organization teams. The little boys and girls -
delicious in those jerseys that almost reach their knees - play what I
think of as "swarm soccer." That is, none of them has the remotest concept
of playing a position - they simply flock up and down the field along with
the ball, wildly kicking whenever they get the chance, whether or not
anyone on their team is there to receive it.
Eventually, they start to get the hang of the game, though it does take
awhile. It was pretty common during those elementary school years for
parent coaches to be yelling "same team! same team!" to a couple of
teammates who were battling for possession of the ball. There is also a
learning curve for parents. I do not want to admit how long it took me to
master the concept of offsides.
By fourth grade, my son was playing on a travel team. By the end of that
first season, I was ready to put my odometer up against anyone's as a
measure of parental devotion. Weekends were spent following vague
directions to faraway fields.
The years went by, and as they did, there were lessons in the growth
patterns of little boys turning into adolescents. Boys who had loomed over
their teammates stopped growing in the seventh grade. Boys who were gangly
and less coordinated came into their own and started exhibiting strong
skills. By middle school, pressure mounted for them to begin specializing
in one sport, and soccer turned into a year-round proposition. Some quit.
We lost our best defender to the football team.
Yes, I know I used the pronoun "we." My son's travel team stayed together
until high school. The moms - and the dads - did feel a part of it. We
spent a lot of time together. We developed traditions. Every Mother's Day,
we had a potluck brunch, and the moms would take on the boys in a
scrimmage. (I recommend this to any parent who needs to be cured of poor
sideline behavior. You try playing soccer, and you will never again yell
out instructions or criticisms.)
With high school came more stressful tryouts and the inevitable cuts. There
were great coaches and difficult coaches. There were overtime games played
on artificial turf in driving rainstorms. There were injuries. There were
marathon homework sessions that went well past midnight, because the
players didn't get back from their weekday away games until 9 p.m.
But boy, was there joy in watching them play. For one thing, they got
really good, and it was a pleasure to see them move the ball effortlessly
up and down the field. But I think what really made it special was that we
watched this particular group of boys grow up together on the field.
A friend was recently putting together a photo album for the
end-of-the-season soccer dinner. All the mothers rummaged through their old
pictures. There were gap-toothed first graders with one foot propped on a
ball, and gawky middle schoolers with their arms around each other's
shoulders. The fourth-grade team picture was particularly poignant. We
thought they had really hit the big time on that first travel team. The
photo reveals them to be what they were - smiling, skinny 9-year-olds.
Now they're shaving. Their leg muscles are scary looking. After practice,
they work on their college applications. They tower over the mothers who
once helped them tie their cleats.
Recently I tried to calculate how many soccer games I had attended, from
Paul's kindergarten days through the varsity playoffs. Hundreds. My soccer
mom rose sits in a vase on my desk. I'll probably press it in a book. Next
year, I suspect there will be crisp fall afternoons that will feel hollow
and lonely. I know it's time for all of us to move on. But it sure has been
a wonderful run.
Quote
September 19, 2006
"IT'S NEVER OVER UNTIL YOU SAY IT'S OVER
The power to hold on in spite of everything, to endure,
this is the quality of a winner.
Your greatest glory is not in never failing,
but in rising every time you fail.
It's your constant and determined effort
that will eventually break down all resistance
and sweep all the barriers before you.
Persistence means taking pains to overcome every obstacle,
to do all that's necessary to reach your goal.
All great achievements require time.
Endurance is the crowning quality of success.
Unknown Author
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