Getting Our Kicks - UrbanMoms

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My daughter has two older brothers who have been playing hockey, baseball, soccer, etc., since before she was born. In fact, I can remember sitting through games pregnant, nursing, with a toddler and most recently with an increasingly bored little girl.

We waited patiently for her to reach the age that her brothers were when they started organized sports, so that she could experience the same joy and pride from athletic accomplishment that her brothers had. Two years ago we registered her for recreational soccer.

Most excitedly, the entire family trekked out to her first game. We were all looking forward to her opportunity to shine. Then we spent two months dealing with a very angry little 4 year old who didn’t want to wear a uniform, attend the game, go onto the field, be in the team photo, do any drills or sit on the sidelines. Each week was a new horror show and we vowed at the end of soccer season to hang up the cleats.

The following Spring she announced she really wanted to try soccer again. A pink uniform and her best friend being on her team seemed to bode well for a better season, but no. Rinse, lather and repeat from season one.

What’s that saying about fool me once shame on you, fool me twice and shame on me? Guess what gluttons for punishment actually registered her for a third season of soccer at her request? But if you can’t beat ’em, you might as well join ’em, so guess who volunteered to wear the extra large Coach’s jersey this time around? Give me a whistle and call me Coach Jennifer.

The lead up to the first game did not go well. My daughter was concerned that the shorts were too baggy, the socks too white, and the cleats were the most uncomfortable shoes she’d ever worn. Our first game was scheduled for 9am on Mother’s Day, and I was mentally prepared for the worst Mother’s Day experience EVER.

The morning dawned sunny and beautiful. My little soccer girl and I headed down to the field together, with my stomach in knots and her pink cleats clicking on the sidewalk. We arrived to find a few of her classmates already there, and she raced ahead of me to show them her uniform and her moves. The game started, and she volunteered to be the first goalie, and went on to make seven saves. Then she took a shift on forward, and dribbled up the field, scoring the first goal of the season.

Over the course of the winter, my daughter had transformed from a non-participant to a soccer superstar!! She ran over to me at the end of the game and said proudly, “I gave you the best Mother’s Day present. I scored a goal for you.”

She did give me the best Mother’s Day present, but it wasn’t the goal, it was the image of her running with confidence and determination up the field. It was the image of her turning to me after scoring the goal with the biggest, proudest grin on her face. It was the image of her giggling on the sidelines with the other girls as they cheered on the teammates.

We all come to our athletic accomplishments at different paces and with different goals and motivations. My sister has been racing since she started to walk, and I entered my first half-marathon at 38. What I want for my children to experience from the activities they enter is simply the joy in being part of a team, the satisfaction from trying your best, and the confidence from knowing that they can do anything that they put their minds to.

And if the price I have to pay is the extremely unflattering extra large coach’s jersey, then so be it. My daughter and I are Team Chelsea this Spring, and I could not be more proud.