|
|
 |
|
The views expressed on this page are soley
those of the author and do not
necessarily represent the views of County
News Online
|
 |
Broke Wife, Big City
And the award
for World’s Worst Soccer Mom goes to...
By Aprill Brandon
My toddler just started playing on a soccer team. Of course, by
“soccer” I mean allegedly a sport in other parts of the world, and by
“team” I mean a loose configuration of tiny humans who run around
confused and desperately try to avoid playing anything that resembles
“soccer.”
It’s super fun (she types wishing there was a sarcasm font).
No, no. Really, it is. Or, at least it would be, if either my son or me
had the slightest interest in doing it. But as it turns out, he is the
laziest soccer player in the world and I am the world’s worst soccer
mom.
This toxic combo is especially awful because when it comes to toddler
soccer, it’s the parents that do the heavy lifting of the actual soccer
playing. We go out on the field with them and help them do the drills
and, in my particular case, even hold my son’s hand while we kick
soccer balls way too hard in the wrong direction because he is going
through a “shy” phase (the quotes here are important because this
alleged shyness appears only when we are doing something he doesn’t
necessarily want to do). In fact, the only one in the family who seems
to like soccer is his baby sister and this is despite the fact she is
getting jiggled to death because she’s attached to my chest in a baby
carrier.
The coaches are great. The parents are great. The other kids are great.
Riker and I just happen to be the worst.
What makes this particularly ironic is that I grew up in a small Ohio
town. That alone meant I was pretty much legally required to love
sports. To be a devoted fan of sports. Where I’m from, you’re not even
allowed to marry someone who supports a rival sports team without
written permission from your parents, both head coaches, and a
religious leader who supports the same team you do and shows it by
ending church service early during the season so you don’t miss the
pre-game coverage.
I exaggerate, of course.
It can just be verbal consent.
As a kid in a small Midwestern town, I also did my due diligence and
played sports as well. Starting with T-ball and later moving up to
volleyball, basketball, track and one season as a truly awful
cheerleader. Every season I played a sport throughout my entire
adolescence and every summer was one long sports camp after the other.
I was so busy with sports as a teenager it’s amazing I even had time to
illegally drink all that cheap room temperature beer in the middle of a
cornfield.
So, see, by all rights I should be a fantastic sports mom. Especially
considering I had a fantastic role model. My mom went to all of my
games. ALL OF THEM. Freezing track meets in the spring, volleyball
games in un-air-conditioned gyms in the early fall, basketball games
where my team only scored four points the entire game (true story).
ALL.
OF.
THEM.
And as far as I know, she never once rolled her eyes or complained.
Meanwhile, when Riker looks at me during soccer and says “can we go
home now?”, I respond “god, I hope so soon.”
Anyone know where I can buy a “World’s Worst Soccer Mom” shirt?
But that ends today. Because my son deserves better. Because he
deserves what I had growing up. Because even though I no longer watch
sports or play sports or care about sports, all those years of my life
devoted to youth sports ultimately made me a better person. And I want
the same kind of experience for my kids.
So, I’m going to do what any good woman does for the men in her life
that she loves. I’m going to fake it. From here on out, I am soccer’s
No. 1 fan from 9 a.m. to 9:45 a.m. every Thursday and Friday, Eastern
Standard Time. I will cheer and be enthusiastic and keep the
eye-rolling to a minimum whenever I hear yet another person yell “DON’T
USE YOUR HANDS!” I even bought a soccer ball for my son so we can
practice in the park (and by “practice” I mean “run around and kick the
ball in random directions until we kick it in the river and it’s lost
forever”).
Yes, I will fake it! I will make him think that I love every second of
watching him play soccer! Even though technically I’m the one doing the
soccer drills while yelling “Look! See how fun this is, sweetie?” while
he chases a butterfly and picks his nose!
You know, this experience makes me really glad that my own mother truly
did love being at every single one of my gam...oh wait…
Oh…
OOH...
Well played, mom. Well played.
Can’t get enough of Aprill? Can’t wait until next week?
Check out her website at http://aprillbrandon.com/
|
|
|
|
