Tasman scored his first soccer goal last night. It was purposeful gain of the ball, cutting to the centre of the field in front of the goal and blasting a left footer in the top corner. The keeper never had a chance. He bounded toward me like he just scored the game winner in the World Cup Final. No mad, tear your shirt off, histrionics, but just genuine, earnest glee for gaining the glory of his teammates and me, his embarrassingly effusive coach/father.
So why, after the immediate pride and happiness for Tasman dipped, did I start think about Hudson would feel about his brother’s goal?
Back story: Hudson played soccer for the past six years, scoring once, a deflection off his shin into the net. We celebrated, coach and son, like two rap video idiots, basically dancing in joy in the middle of the field. It was epic and continued right on into the giant slushie vat I promised him if ever scored a goal. This year Hudson declined the opportunity to play soccer and it was the first year we did not press him to join.
‘Just not my sport Dad’ He said and I said fine (then he signed up for basketball, all good).
I am so cognizant of Hudson’s sensitivity. Basically I am terrified of it. He struggles with it daily, overthinking, overfeeling, so careful not to disrupt the status quo, so desperate to be accepted into the cool.
One my favourite pictures of all time.
We reward Hudson’s efforts, not necessarily
the results, careful not to send him into any shadowed place of shame, overly careful even (now who is being histrionic). So any glory that his brother gains, with relative simplicity, I tone down in front of his brother. Yes I was effusive on the field and yes I gave Tasman the luxury of gunning up the stairs in his cleats to tell his mother (and brother, once the big ass headphones came off) about his goal. But when Hudson asked me privately, sheepishly, if he got a slush, I said no, that was a reward for your goal, not his.
I don’t compare my kids. I try so hard to be collaborative in praise and specific when the time is right. I don’t hold one up to the other and say, can’t you be more like your brother? They love each other with a secret ferocity and Tasman thinks Hudson is basically the coolest person on the entire planet, so why am I so protective of my first born?
His giant, fragile heart beats so strong.
I sometimes feel so lost on whether to protect it or let it bleed a little bit.
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