Soccer ended this past Sunday. And it was good.
I kid. A little bit.
You see, I love how much my boys love soccer. They also love soccer differently. For LittleBrother, still under the protective wing of U6, soccer is all about happiness and talking with friends and maybe a little running around and occasionally kicking the ball. For BigBrother, soccer became Important this year, and with the Importance came the zest for winning and running harder and giving it all he could give. Oh, their personality differences! Every week, they happily wolfed down their lunches, quickly changed into their soccer uniforms, and rushed off to the field in the 45 minute time span after church. Never a fight, though occasionally a push to move a little faster.
I also loved how the coaches loved our kids. Blessed with very different coaches with very different goals that matched my very different children. Most of all, the coaches were kind, unlike some of the other coaches we encountered throughout our season. Coaches we dubbed with names like Screamy Coach. Don’t be the Screamy Coach.
My least favorite thing about soccer this year wasn’t actually the Screamy Coach, though he was spectacularly awful. It wasn’t an assortment of kids on opposing teams and own teams that couldn’t seem to keep their hands to themselves. It wasn’t the weather or the rushing around or the lack of parking. No, those things annoyed but fell under the heading of Tolerable.
The worst thing? Being torn between two kids on two different teams.
We still have it easy, being community organization soccer instead of later, when they may (or may not) play school sports and we will have to travel to away games and so on. But still, when the boys played on different fields at the same time? What were we to do? We split half and half, of course. But in that split time, FireDad missed both of BigBrother’s goals for the year. It’s hard, because we want to be there for them, to show them that we support them in their passions. This will be a battle we fight for years, finding that give and take between the boys and their different interests, their differing schedules. We will do our best, and hopefully, maybe just maybe, the boys will understand that we did all we could.
For now, I am immensely proud of two little boys who both said, “Thank you,” to their coaches when they got their soccer medals. Good job, boys. Good job.