波士頓之雪
03-30-2004, 17:03
Posted on Wed, Mar. 24, 2004
Soccer mom seeks new goals
By Sandra Duncan
My days as a soccer mom are drawing to a close, and I feel sad, even though I may retire to a taco bar. But I never expected to feel sad seven years ago when I stood hunched in the rain watching my pigtailed daughter slip and slide across a muddy field and stab clumsily at the ball with her foot.
Of course, I never expected to spend every weekend from August through December at soccer fields. And that was just the fall season; never mind the eight weeks of winter indoor play and eight more weeks in spring.
I never expected to actually learn the offside rule, to be the sort of woman who wears soccer ball jewelry, to be on the road before dawn for an early, distant game. I surely never expected to enjoy it, to find myself looking forward to watching my daughter and her friends, no longer in pigtails but beautiful, athletic young women with a grace and toughness I envy.
A breed apart
Soccer parents are a unique breed -- loyal, gregarious and, as a general rule, not whiners. We routinely haul our folding chairs, wheeled coolers, cameras, umbrellas and E-Z Up canopies from the soggy fields of the North Coast to the baked-hard landscape of the sweltering Central Valley. We come armed with orange slices and ice packs, water jugs and Gatorade, snacks and sunscreen.
We cheer every attempt at contact with the ball, every throw-in, every shot on goal, every save. We wince at each header, hold our breath for each penalty kick, rejoice at perfect passes and powerful kicks that clear the ball up the field, and exchange sly smiles over a well-done slide tackle. And we watch our kids develop an inner strength that sustains them through bad calls by referees, over-zealous contact by opposing players, near-miss shots and inevitable losses.
We develop an inner strength ourselves that keeps us from rushing onto the field every time a player goes down, or from swearing too loud. It sustains us through the quest for not-too-tacky coaches gifts, the pre- and postseason pizza parties, and ongoing car washes, garage sales and raffles. We hone our herding skills during overnight tournament stays, moving the flock through the hotel breakfast buffet in the morning and the pasta and taco bars at night.
Hard-earned wisdom
Over the years, I have learned a few things: to bring a pocketful of tissue to the porta-potty, to spot the experienced parent who can help with the not-so-easy parts of setting up the E-Z Up, and to book the pizza parlor early.
If you're new to the game, know that if you have more than one child playing soccer, you will never see your spouse. If you miss a game, it will be the one your child plays better than ever. If you stay overnight for a weekend tournament, bring extra quarters and extra socks. If you go to a tournament in Fresno (and you will), get an inside room facing the pool. And be forever grateful, as I am, that Starbucks' manifest destiny has brought the familiar green logo to the likes of Turlock in time for an early Sunday game.
Now that my daughter is retiring her cleats, I'm thinking I can reclaim some of the space taken up by soccer balls and sports bags, and finally exile the smelly shinguards once and for all. But then I remember her younger brother still wants to play. I guess I will keep collecting quarters and save the taco bar for later.
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Sandra Duncan lives in San Jose.
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Soccer mom seeks new goals
By Sandra Duncan
My days as a soccer mom are drawing to a close, and I feel sad, even though I may retire to a taco bar. But I never expected to feel sad seven years ago when I stood hunched in the rain watching my pigtailed daughter slip and slide across a muddy field and stab clumsily at the ball with her foot.
Of course, I never expected to spend every weekend from August through December at soccer fields. And that was just the fall season; never mind the eight weeks of winter indoor play and eight more weeks in spring.
I never expected to actually learn the offside rule, to be the sort of woman who wears soccer ball jewelry, to be on the road before dawn for an early, distant game. I surely never expected to enjoy it, to find myself looking forward to watching my daughter and her friends, no longer in pigtails but beautiful, athletic young women with a grace and toughness I envy.
A breed apart
Soccer parents are a unique breed -- loyal, gregarious and, as a general rule, not whiners. We routinely haul our folding chairs, wheeled coolers, cameras, umbrellas and E-Z Up canopies from the soggy fields of the North Coast to the baked-hard landscape of the sweltering Central Valley. We come armed with orange slices and ice packs, water jugs and Gatorade, snacks and sunscreen.
We cheer every attempt at contact with the ball, every throw-in, every shot on goal, every save. We wince at each header, hold our breath for each penalty kick, rejoice at perfect passes and powerful kicks that clear the ball up the field, and exchange sly smiles over a well-done slide tackle. And we watch our kids develop an inner strength that sustains them through bad calls by referees, over-zealous contact by opposing players, near-miss shots and inevitable losses.
We develop an inner strength ourselves that keeps us from rushing onto the field every time a player goes down, or from swearing too loud. It sustains us through the quest for not-too-tacky coaches gifts, the pre- and postseason pizza parties, and ongoing car washes, garage sales and raffles. We hone our herding skills during overnight tournament stays, moving the flock through the hotel breakfast buffet in the morning and the pasta and taco bars at night.
Hard-earned wisdom
Over the years, I have learned a few things: to bring a pocketful of tissue to the porta-potty, to spot the experienced parent who can help with the not-so-easy parts of setting up the E-Z Up, and to book the pizza parlor early.
If you're new to the game, know that if you have more than one child playing soccer, you will never see your spouse. If you miss a game, it will be the one your child plays better than ever. If you stay overnight for a weekend tournament, bring extra quarters and extra socks. If you go to a tournament in Fresno (and you will), get an inside room facing the pool. And be forever grateful, as I am, that Starbucks' manifest destiny has brought the familiar green logo to the likes of Turlock in time for an early Sunday game.
Now that my daughter is retiring her cleats, I'm thinking I can reclaim some of the space taken up by soccer balls and sports bags, and finally exile the smelly shinguards once and for all. But then I remember her younger brother still wants to play. I guess I will keep collecting quarters and save the taco bar for later.
--------------------------------------------------------------------------------
Sandra Duncan lives in San Jose.
non-asp/emot/em19.gifnon-asp/emot/em19.gifnon-asp/emot/em19.gif