Post Traumatic Soccer Disorder

David, clad in CYSL Under-6 gear and equipped with a shiny new Size 3 ball, was so excited for his first soccer game that he could hardly contain himself. Jack was excited that I finally conceded to let him bring his favorite (empty) movie cases to play with at the game. He doesn't play.. he collects and carries. He is our hoarder, only interested in objects that can hold others. He cares little for what he collects as long as it fills his container. Once he managed to smuggle every piece of chalk from the gym in his lunchbox. Now, we do a strip search before we leave the Kids' Center. Since cases carry movies, they interest him. He will be one of those collectors that never takes the action figures out of the box but leaves them for display only. Odd. 

David's excitement quickly turned to distress when we arrived at the field, where a dozen games were being played on carefully painted fields with spectators lined up to watch on every side. The hordes of people, the sounds of whistles blowing, coaches yelling instructions and the cheers from multiple sidelines overwhelmed him. Performance anxiety quickly set in. He threw himself upon the ground and started to bawl, begging to go home. He refused to join his teammates, apparently oblivious to the pressures of youth soccer. I was relieved that Grandpa Rick and Grandma Pam were there to assist, as Rich was working that day. After much coaxing, we got to the bottom of his fears. He was concerned about winning, that he wouldn't play well and that ALL these people would be watching him. My mind flashed back to weeks earlier when he witnessed us getting riled up over World Cup games and analyzing the various teams' performances. Being the observant child he is, he must have assumed that these soccer spectators would be judging him just as harshly. Poor kid. It took nearly 20 minutes to calm his hysterical cries and convince him that each person was only there to watch their own kid, that his performance was irrelevant and that we only wanted to see him have fun with his new friends. After promising a treat after the game if he merely stood with his team for the remainder of the warm-ups, he wiped his eyes, clutched his ball and trudged across the field to join the other Cubs. Seconds later, a referee called the kids over for the pre-game inspection. Just as I rejoined Rick, Pam and Jack on the sidelines, the coach called me back. Rich had bought David the wrong cleats. We would have to find a way to saw off the front cleat of each shoe before he would be allowed to play. Fighting the urge to punch both the coach and the ref in the face (who had both witnessed his breakdown and knew what it had taken for him to be willing to play), I dragged my dazed 5 year old back to the sidelines. When the situation was explained to David, he burst into tears, begging that his precious new cleats not be mutilated. It took nearly the entire first half of the game for Rick to wander the vast fields, locate someone with a razor and remove the cursed front cleats.

David, ostracized from his team, lay on our blanket emotionally spent. I sat and theorized as to why nothing ever goes smoothly for us... like Kindergarten, swimming lessons, etc. Did marrying on Friday the 13th really jinx us from having normal life experiences.... I mean Rich did buy the wrong cleats but is an abnormally uncoordinated 5 year old with an extra cleat really a danger? Or could they have let him play his FIRST game, then let us fix the problem before the next one? Don't they consider the implications of a child's first athletic experience and the lasting scars it can leave if it doesn't go well?!

To show she wasn't completely heartless, the coach let David do the kick-off for the second half. It was the last time he touched the ball,  most likely for the remainder of the season. The ball is irrelevant to him. Soccer is about being around other kids and awaiting that moment when he is running side-by-side with one. His strengths are social, not physical. He has never really played by himself, nor shown interest in activities that didn't involve social interaction. Our soccer socialite spent the remainder of the game getting to know the players on both teams and picking grass, sometimes jogging behind the huddle as if trying to get a glimpse of what the fuss was all about, anticipating the chance to return to the sidelines to sit with the other subs and chat. 

The next week, he lasted about 15 minutes of this until he told the coach he was done playing and wanted to go home. After some encouragement, he returned to the field and attempted to lift one of his buddies by grabbing him in a bear hug until they both fell and rolled around on the grass. Not once has he attempted to go near the ball. So we did what new soccer parents do... bought the official soccer pictures, feeling sure that this opportunity would not come again. We now look forward to watching Jack a few years down the road, who has already surpassed his big bro in speed and skills. We are proud of David though because he understand what life is really about... relationships, and the other kids seem to like him for that. He will always have friends. We are grateful for our unique children and the lessons they teach us.