Playground Uprising

Sunday: The Day of Unrest
March 27, 2007, 6:21 pm
Filed under: Family, parenthood, parenting, Soccer, sports


We obviously missed the memo. Sunday, to our family, has become the day of unrest. A day of church, grandparents, errands, Advil, and now soccer.

When we arrived at the field the long haired soccer coach with the cleats, uniform, and weathered tan asked me what size uniform Mac needed and then interrupted her own question and handed us an extra-small shirt, shorts, and pair of socks. She reminded me of my high school gym teacher who called me Toto in reference to my name and my urge to flee at the very mention of words like practice and tournaments; nonetheless, I trusted this new Sunday companion because she appeared to be the only one at the game with professional footwear, signaling a level of competence lacking in the rest of us.

She then directed Mac to Coach Dad with the long black hair and ponytail, the one Mac quickly bypassed as he aligned himself with Coach Dad #2 with the short brown hair and fire engine red soccer uniform. Coach Ponytail seemed a bit perturbed by the brush off until I assured him Mac had been ignoring directions from authority figures for years and not to take it personally, he was simply like a moth, attracted to bright colors.

As the game began the white team was direct to run to the left and the red to the right, which they all promptly did leaving the ball alone on the dance floor looking for some play. After the two coaches exchanged a, “these teams are likely not going to make it to the finals”  look,  followed by a brief discussion on the merits of actually making foot to ball contact, a minimum level of understanding appeared to be reached and the game was on.

As the children played it occurred to me that Mac was the smallest member on the team even though he is in the 95th percentile for height and weight and I had consciously decided not to sign him up for the “Big and Tall” league this season. So with a little detective work that would make Monk proud I ascertained that four-year-old Mac had inadvertently been place on the five-year-old team. Ponytail coach, however, said he liked Mac’s energy (I asked to get this statement in writing for Mac’s future kindergarten teacher) and I assured him that Mac’s attitude was more befitting a five year anyway.

So we both agreed to let him keep hanging with the fellas.


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