A few weeks ago you debuted in your first soccer game with the Sharks, a six-man squad in a 4v4 micro soccer league. You proudly wear #3, a number I also wore, though you’re more excited to have the same number as Russell Wilson.
After totally ignoring the game for several minutes, distracted by mud, you netted your first goal, an own goal, but celebrated all the same. The coaching staff has some work to do keep you headed the right direction.
Of course, your Mom and I are your coaching staff along with Coach Christy, our communicative team manager. Coaching your own kid is a tough job. Your Nonno coached me for a good chunk of my youth career, but I was always an astute listener and applied everything I was told. You, on the other hand, are a free spirit on the field and like to play by your own rules. You’re hungry all the time, demanding fruit snacks from us to stay on the pitch. When you don’t like a drill, you lie down in the middle of the field like you’re tanning on a Hawaiian beach, hands behind your head and heels crossed, soaking in the Pacific Northwest clouds.
I’ve been digging deep (on the Internet), trying to find drills to keep you and the team engaged and progressing. In addition to our Sunday afternoon games, we’ve got practices on Tuesday night. You’re still in the “bunch ball” phase of learning the game, but we’re learning how to spread the field and pass to each other. Our usual drills include Duck-Duck-Goose, Red Light Green Light and scrimmaging at practice. The mix has paid off as you’ve been scoring more goals going the right direction.
To round out our soccer intake, your Mom and I have also been binging Ted Lasso, but that admittedly has more to do with enjoying good quality TV writing.
Your soccer games and practice schedule along with Eliza’s dance schedule and school for both of you has lunged your Mom and I into a suddenly rigid family calendar, to the hour. We didn’t realize how much we liked our free-range schedule up to this point. But we don’t mind the new wave of structure either. It drives the week forward. It surrounds us with new kids and parents and community. It feels like a new stage of parenting — and coaching.
Up until this month, you’d find me on most Sundays lounging around the house in a t-shirt and joggers looking for something to fix around the house or organize. These Sundays, I’m suited up in my Gig Harbor soccer quarter zip with training pants and cleats on and a whistle dangling from my neck, yelling, “That’s your ball, #3. Go get it! All the way to the goal!”
Love,
Dad