Soccer Mom

On Saturday, I officially became a soccer mom.

My inauguration was supposed to be the week before, but a brief case of food poisoning kept Cordy from making it to the first practice.

Cordy has been interested in soccer since she was two years old. She’s always loved kicking the ball around the backyard, head down, focused on having her foot make contact with the ball. For all of her lack of coordination, she’s surprisingly good at kicking a ball.

Signing her up for a soccer league is something I’ve been considering for some time, but I’ve been plagued by a lot of doubts every time I get close to doing so. She doesn’t like a lot of loud noises, and she certainly doesn’t like cheering. Coping with losing is not a strong point for her. She’s not very focused on group activities, preferring anything she can do alone instead.

But this year I’ve been getting some positive reports from school that made me think that now was the right time. Her teacher e-mailed me last month and said that Cordy learned to play kickball and was now playing with the other kids at recess. She then e-mailed me another day to let me know Cordy scored a home run kick that day. And then the next e-mail stated that the principal taught Cordy how to pitch the ball for kickball, and she can now pitch for her team! I was honestly shocked that she had become so interested in a group sport.

I still didn’t feel comfortable with signing her up for a soccer group, until I learned about a local soccer league for special-needs kids. The league is for all ages (they separate the kids into age-appropriate groups), and the focus is on simply doing your best and having fun. Each child received their own uniform, and there are lots of volunteers to help guide the kids and keep them motivated.

When I took Cordy to her first practice, she really didn’t want to go. “But mommy, my team will lose!”

“You don’t know that, Cordy. You might win. And either way, you’ll have fun.”

“But I might lose, too. I don’t wanna lose.”

Her anxiety was high when we got to the indoor soccer facility, made even worse by seeing the image of a flaming soccer ball on the outside of the building. (“Why is that soccer ball on fire? Will we get burned in there? I don’t want to catch on fire!”) As I checked her in and got her uniform, she stood off to the side pacing and hopping, looking uneasy.

I took her to the bathroom to change into her uniform, answering questions about what she was going to do and why she had to wear the uniform. I decided to skip the shin guards completely – strapping something tight around her lower legs probably wouldn’t go over well at the moment. Once she was dressed, it was like a switch flipped. “Mama, I look like a real soccer player!”

I took her to her assigned field, where several kids were already kicking balls around. Cordy took one look at all the balls and ran right in, eager to kick as many balls as she could.

Soon it was time for practice, and all of the balls except for one were removed from the area. The coach led the kids in some stretches and warmups, which Cordy mostly participated in. Then half the kids put on blue tank tops while the others kept their yellow shirts only to separate them into two teams. The rules were explained, and off they went!

The first goal was made by Cordy’s team. She ran right over to me, shouting, “I won! I scored a goal!” I reminded her that it was only one goal, and there was a lot more of the game to play. (I decided not to point out that she wasn’t the one who scored the goal, either. She wasn’t anywhere near the ball that time.)

The second attempt resulted in a goal for the other team. Cordy again came over to me, this time looking sad, and said, “We lost, mama. I want to go home now.” A little more encouragement, and she was back out with the other kids again. If she planned to do this each time, it was going to be a long, emotionally draining hour.

Cordy did fairly well on the field. She didn’t like to get in close with other kids, and so she wasn’t good at going after the ball. But when the ball happened her way, she often gave it a powerful kick to send it back down to the other end of the field, leaving others on her team to score the goal.

About 40 minutes in, Cordy started begging to go home. She was tired and didn’t want to play anymore because the other team kept scoring. I reminded her that kids who stayed for the full hour got a snack, and that was enough motivation for her to finish out the practice.

While I would have been worried about her behavior in another soccer league, in this group she fit right in. Other kids had meltdowns, didn’t want to go near the ball, kicked it the wrong way, picked it up with their hands, or just sat down on the field and refused to move. And the parents just cheered them on and provided encouragement.

No one though twice if a child had to leave for a few minutes to calm down. Parents were allowed out on the field to help their child if needed. It was a supportive environment filled with love for our kids, ending with all of the parents standing side by side in two lines, putting their arms up to form a “tunnel” for the kids to run through while the parents cheered and told them what a good job they did.

After we got home, Cordy told me that she had fun and wants to go back again next week. I’m hoping this will be a good introduction to group sports, and perhaps if she does well in this league, we can try her in a more competitive league in the future.