Scallywag

It takes courage to grow up and become who you really are.

~ E E Cummings ~

I Was a Reluctant Soccer Mom

November 1st, 2011 ~ Est. reading time: 1 min, 48 secs

That was never a goal!

What does it take to be a soccer Mom?

Well in my case, a lot! For starters, a complete gender change was required. Then a pep talk from Ruth explaining just how important it is to be there for your kids when they are embarking on a sporting activity.

I knew what she was talking about. But I still needed to hear it. Having grown up without any sporting experience, ambitions, or parental support for sport, I needed to start a new family culture.

That’s how I became a soccer Mom…well, a soccer Dad.

Teaching at my sons’ school also put an extra obligation on me. Without a coach for the nine year olds, my lucky number immediately came up.

If you can teach you can coach,” Ruth chimed in “Your younger son needs you.

Well that settled it. Now I had to get involved.

So I put my hand up and volunteered to be the soccer coach.

Now you might think it funny but I never learned all the rules to soccer. Which meant that I had a lot of catching up to do.

Thankfully, the other coaches were generally pretty helpful on the finer points of junior league soccer.

Given I barely knew the difference between a penalty and a pass I needed all the help I could get.

I’d like to say it was fun and all went fine. But from the start, being the under 10s soccer coach proved to be fraught affair.

Some supporters – shall I say overly “enthusiastic” soccer parents – revealed a different side to this seemingly innocent kid’s sport.

Within minutes they switched from cheering supporters to hooligans baying for blood. Little wonder things got decidedly nasty when the game didn’t go their way.

Suddenly, I wasn’t helping little kids play a team sport. I was the Saturday morning bouncer trying to quell all out brawls.

“That kid kicked my boy. Get him off!”

“Ha! They’re just a bunch of stinking cheats. We’re gonna kill-em!”

“You calling us losers? Come here and say that!”

Having an angry finger wagging in my face with a red faced, blue rinsed fan at the other end of it is pretty intimidating. But when you have six over-excited parents holding onto each other in headlocks and half-nelsons, you start realizing that soccer is definitely a contact sport that only the toughest of parents can ever partake in.

As for me, well I graciously retired at seasons end and aside from a little eye twitch whenever someone says the word “soccer” you’d never know I was once a soccer Mom, er, Dad.

 

Feegs

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