Take it Down the Field

8 AM on a Saturday morning and suddenly, after 7 years of trying to do this parenting thing right, I have become the thing that everyone jokes about. I am still, and always hope to be, without a minivan. However, I am now a soccer mom.

At 5 and 7, the skill level of these kids is beginner at best, with a few phenoms who can actually move the ball down the field. Each kid did their version of great- Roman with a lot of jumping and giggling and silliness, Evelyn with a competitive, determined butt-kicking adrenaline high that lasted long after the game had ended.

Here is Roman in his prize moment. His first game, his first time on a soccer field and the ball comes generally in his direction. And what does my boy do? He happily runs away....

So if you have ever read this silly blog of mine before, you know I like to look at the things that happen in my life and try and put them on a larger scale and extract the life lesson. Sometimes it works and sometimes it doesn't. So here we go on some more or less successful (you be the judge) soccer metaphors for life.


Sometimes everything clicks and in the moment you see the goal before you make it, sense the movement of everyone around you and choose all the right decisions to make the perfect shot. You are brave and strong and smart. You believe in the rightness of your skills, in the confidence of your stride. The pieces all come together, your skill is obvious and on point. You are recognized for your amazingness and you show what you are made of. Simply, you win.

Sometimes life sets you up for a beautiful corner kick - the ball placed directly in front of you, no barriers, no obstacles- and somehow you blow it. You don't connect. You don't find the open man. For some reason you can't make your body move the way you know it can. You tried- you went for it and didn't hold back. But somehow it didn't work. And you look back at that moment and replay it over and over, knowing you had the chance to do better and didn't.

Sometimes you make the assist. Sometimes you are there for someone when they need you and you help them make their big play. You back them up, block their opponents, stop the defense that would have broken them down, and be exactly what they need. You know in your heart that you were the shoulder they leaned on in that time. It's their glory and seeing them find that happiness is more than enough to fill your own heart.

Sometimes the ball is passed to you and you panic and run away. Despite it being the moment you were waiting for, the opportunity to succeed or make a difference or do the right thing, you don't. You freeze. You choose the wrong thing.  The weight of the moment is too intense, the pressure too great. You let fear or insecurity or indecision guide you when you should have remembered everything you had been taught and the whole wide world sees you fail.

And then there is that moment in soccer when the ball comes square at your face. If you have soccer in your blood, you do that crazy thing where you head the ball and look all talented and sporty and everyone wants you on their team. If not, you can either sidestep- avoid the thing that everyone is after, or put up your hands and grab hold of something you aren't supposed to touch. You let your instinct take over and suddenly you have, in your possession, something that belongs somewhere else. And you pay the penalty, feel the pain of the loss, even if you didn't mean to do it, even if you are sorry, even if you realize your mistake and wish to take it back, even if you didn't mean to hurt your team, even if you were just hoping to stop the ball long enough to put it gently on the ground and kick it back into the game.

Sometimes you even get taken out of the game for not doing well and have to miss out on playing a game you love. And you have to sit on the sideline and feel the crushing disappointment of being left out. Then, at the very least, you have time to reflect on what you did wrong (or if you are me, you beat yourself up and wonder at your own weakness) and hope that the coach believes in you enough to know that you aren't a complete loss.

My baby girl lost her first game on Saturday and took it hard, with tears and anger and pouting. I sat her down and told her a hard truth. "You might not win any games, kiddo. What matters is how hard you try and if you learn from it." This didn't necessarily land well with an emotional 7-going-on-17 year old. But it's true. Sometimes you lose, hard. Sometimes you don't ever get to win. But if you practice, if you learn from your mistakes- if you let those mistakes be a part of what makes you better, instead of what brings you down- if you try harder and do better and try to make up for what you did wrong, then you will be living the life you choose to live. And that's what counts.

Publication

Not that I think that anyone I know is shelling out big money for poetry magazines these days....but I was published in the Poetry Quarterly issue back in March that is available for sale (under my old name). You can find it here.

And in case you just want to read the poem for free, I posted it here!

There's a Baby on the Bus

The universe made a huge mistake yesterday and a school bus in my town drove away with a baby on board- no parent with him, no one to watch over, no one to make sure he was safe and happy, no one to take care that he wasn't scared or picked on or lost, and not a soul there who knew by heart his fears, his favorite things or the way he needs to be soothed when he cries. His mother wasn't with him to help him and hold him tightly to make sure nothing dangerous touched him. He had to navigate a new place on his own. Find his way. But no one noticed how huge this mistake was- no one yelled "Stop! He's just a baby! He can't do this on his own!" except his mother's poor heart as the bus carried him farther away.

Six long and grueling hours later that same unfeeling bus carried the baby back, unharmed, unafraid and having done exactly what he was supposed to do. That baby smiled at his mother and threw himself happily into her arms, joyful at his successful independence, gleefully exclaiming about his new friends, wonder-filled classroom and the unequivocal bliss of exploring a new playground. His eyes shone, his small body hopped and bounced around, unable to contain the excitement of his adventure, not knowing for even the smallest moment that his mother felt a piece of her heart break at the same moment that it glowed warm with a deep and life sustaining pride. He slid his sticky hand into hers, not seeing her conflict, not understanding how, while his world had suddenly burst open with possibilities, hers felt slightly colder and more threatening. But his mother squeezed his little fingers, remembering when they could barely curl around her thumb and she leaned down to touch his baby face- that isn't a baby face at all any more- and told him "I knew you could do it, baby."