Open Apology to Soccer Moms

It's not that I really judged you, it's more that I didn't want to be you. The image in my mind: confined to a minivan, shuttling kids, a life-on-the-go for a vain and self-congratulatory purpose. The culture of obsessing about refs, recording scores, the horror stories of hockey dads gone violent. So far, I have resisted palling with the coaches, bringing excessive snacks, and standing within earshot of the players. But I don't know how long I can resist.

I need to apologize because now I get it. The joy it brings to see your child, this being that you saw come into being, out on the field at play and in-play! What an expression of humanity, I know it sounds hyperbolic, but I had this primal sense that my progeny was out on the battle-field and fending for himself, and it was nothing short of glorious!

Manny --on the tennis court, eyes still bloodshot from a tantrum about NOT wanting to be there, but now doing his little Nadal-inspired shuffle. And returning serves from a fourteen year old. Benicio--whose report card brought us to tears. His gym teacher wrote, "What an amazing little athlete!" Benici on the soccer field, a natural running to the ball, learning the give and go. Rockin' the Beckenbauer pull-back with aplomb. Clara, with her friend Zady on the soccer field, having to be told that they cannot, in fact, dribble downfield holding hands. But then Clara, with not one second of apprehension, lowers her head and SHOOTS on the goalie with an unexpected accuracy. And then of course Calliope, who I have spinelessly bribed all week, showed moments of promise when she played a game where they basically have to shoot soccer balls directly at the coach. For some reason, she got really into it.

Maybe it's a microcosm of how they will or do function in the real world. A microcosm-- a mini-scenario of what they do when faced with certain things-- when faced head-on with a kid twice their size wanting to slide-tackle you and possibly cleat you, do you back off, or do you charge? Or when being heckled for being slow during wind-sprints on the tennis court, do you wither or do you get faster? Or maybe it's a metaphor for who they are on a larger scale--Clara tends toward a slow and steady love of game whereas Benicio tends to burn bright and fast and risks burnout.

Either way, I am a junkie for it. My adrenaline gets up and I am transfixed. Once, I was watching my sis in a junior high basketball tournament. I saw her get body-checked, intentionally-fouled and I was livid and broke out into stress hives. Even so, seeing my sister's perfect passes and twitch-fast rebounds, was amazing.

So, I am sorry I laughed at your car-magnets, your lilliputian cleats dangling from your rearview mirror. If you will have me, I will proudly join your ranks. I will cut oranges for an army. I will be there on the sidelines. I will drive to Guam for the away games. I'm in.