Becoming a soccer mom

The majority of family videos from my childhood are really just hours of shaky footage of little kid soccer games. The recordings are essentially my dad yelling “GET TO THE SPOT” while he points the camcorder at a random spot on the grass and gestures wildly to my younger brother. We watched the tapes anyway a few years ago, when we were really missing him and just wanted to hear papa’s voice.

Emmett started soccer today, and it was honestly pretty emotional for me. My dad would turn 81 on Monday, but he’s been gone since 2003. In my memories, my dad wore two “uniforms” – either his work suit with a bunch of architect pens in the pocket, or his soccer attire, which consisted of a too-tight T-shirt and too-short Umbros. Last night, we made sure to get an XS pair in honor of Papa Rudy, so we could channel him in practice. My brother got him a ball and shin guards (the tiniest!) for Christmas.

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Soccer was background noise to my childhood. The TV was often turned to Telemundo with my dad cheering along with every GOAAAAALLLL! Papa was frequently yelling in Spanish at my brother’s club coach, while I hid behind a book as a bored sister on the sidelines. I did actually play my freshman year of high school (no-cut team!) just so that my dad and I might have something to talk about. Mostly, I planned the team social events and rode the bench, but it was a season of connection a few years before my dad died.

We signed Emmett up for the Junior Menace indoor league soccer for 3/4-year olds so he’d run out his wiggles in the depths of winter. (I have no designs on trying out for club teams and making my life revolve around my child athlete.)

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It’s weird to think about this morning as dipping my toe into the world of being a “sports parent”- especially since I think Emmett might be more of a theater kid than a jock. I’ve read a little bit about how being mindful of the way you talk to kids about their performance “I love to watch you” versus “You’re so good at,” or “You should have,” keeping the focus on the joy of the activity instead of their success.

The kids practiced ball-handing fundamentals and ran around in the HS gym at Central Campus. Emmett was a good listener and the exercise definitely tired him out.

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My eyes welled up as I watched him play in a newly focused little way, and I actually thought “Papa would be in heaven right now if he could see him.”  And, well, maybe he is.

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