Another soccer season has closed. The Goldfish, a soon-to-be 6YO, has seen more action in team sports than I have in my whole life. For the previous two seasons, he was in a comp league in a different town, but this last season we put him in instructional so that he could come up through the ranks with his friends in his own community.
But first, before I expound on that any further, we had some more cup time in the park pre-soccer practice.
I let The Rev get him going.
He put a fairly good spin on it…
But it left me unsatisfied. I thought he needed a healthier push.
I think it was a success.
Because when he ejected…
He was still a little knock-kneed and wobbly.
He is perhaps my greatest treasure.
This one is too, but his head might explode if he went that fast just yet. We’re priming him over the next couple of years for it, don’t worry.
Oh. Guess what I noticed? Some brotherly resemblance.
The Fish had confided earlier in the day that he wasn’t really liking soccer this time. But I had a sneaking suspicion it was because it wasn’t competitive enough.
Because as soon as they announced that the kids would scrimmage the parents, I saw a different boy.
I suspected as much. He just needed a good beating.
The parents won, of course. 1-0. I couldn’t help it; I scored the winning goal.
Gosh, I’m a terrible parent.
They still gave him his certificate, though. And glared at me through their sunglasses.
I think I’ve been banned from all Youth Sports.