My grandson King, who lives in Franklin, Tenn., will be playing soccer this year. When the news of this upcoming adventure was relayed to my husband and me, the smiles were immediate and wide.
Soccer was the center of our lives for many years, from kindergarten age through college. We loved it, made some life-long friends and felt – on the whole of it – it was a great experience for our boys and our family.
Grandson Cohen in Seattle gave it a try, but baseball is his game of choice. I suspect that King, at this age, would rather drive a train (especially if it lived in Tidmouth Sheds with Thomas), but we will see how he takes to kicking around a soccer ball.
Of course the memories are already flooding back as I think about King in a reversible soccer jersey, standing out on a field of green.
We had some high emotions and incredible drama through our soccer years with Trey and Brett. We had rewarding championships, unbelievable wins, devastating losses and hilarious adventures. The boys learned many lessons that had nothing to do with dribbling a ball or shooting at a goal. So did the parents.
Looking in the rear-view mirror, however, those early days were the most satisfying. Children didn’t start as 3-year-olds, as King is. They could start when they turned 5, and parents were the coaches. The practices were often total chaos, partially because this was fairly early in soccer in Knoxville. The parent-coaches were often studying the manual at night to get ready for practice the next day.
I have a feeling, however, that I will see some of the same precious things when King takes the field that I have cherished in my heart from my sons’ early soccer days.
I expect that, no matter where the coach tells them to play, these youngsters will all follow the ball, running around it like a swarm of bees around a hive.
I expect some will still stop and dig in the dirt or pick dandelions for their mothers, oblivious to the game going on around them.
I expect one or more will get tired and just sit down in the middle of the field to rest.
I expect several will pick the ball up, even if they are not the goalie.
I am sure, if a plane or helicopter flies over the field, the game will stop while they all look up and point.
And I have no doubt that, for almost all of them, the best part will be the orange slices and juice boxes they get at the end of the game.
At least I hope that is what I see, because some things, even in this grown-up new world, should never change.