The first Sunday we arrived at the field amidst what seemed like 800 or so other families, wandering aimlessly looking for an ambiguous color "stone blue." We eventually found it, team name "Smurfs," and my conversion to soccer mom began. I wasn't convinced it would be completed. I wanted to see if we actually made it through a game.
It started off promising. Austin actually mounted the field with his team. A full head taller than any other kid out there, and armed with a shiny new Umbro ball, I thought, "yes! This might actually work!"
Mmmm, not so much. Almost instantly, we were out. Head hung low, Austin sulked off the field into the adjoining field behind us. Andy stayed on the sidelines while I stalked after Austin to cajole, threaten, and outright force him back onto the field.
He returned; this time the coach approached us and said that if Austin had a problem sharing his ball that it might be best just to keep it with us. I was floored. I am not the biggest sports fan but I like to think I am a pretty good observer of human nature. How had I totally missed that SHARING had been the problem? But it seemed to be another piece of the puzzle. I agreed, sat tight on the ball as if wishing it would hatch, and watched the "game" now in progress.
Time and again Austin completed a play, and ran screaming banshee-esqe from the field. Time and again we carted him back onto the field. I was embarrassed, exhausted, and ready to call it quits in our latest endeavor with our four-year-old, but we stuck it out.
The end of the game found Austin searching for wild clovers to pick for me in any and every surrounding field, and the coach flooring me for the second time by asking us to let him know if there was anything going on that he could help with. How could he possibly tell that from this one meeting that our son had special needs? However observant he was also humble and kind and a volunteer coaching for the first time since his own 4-year -old was on the team. I told him I appreciated the gesture.
The following week Andy and I were both otherwise committed to work functions. I asked my dad to help out by taking Austin (it was our snack week, too.) They schlepped to the game with chairs, snacks, drinks, and everything they needed loaded down and in tow. Everything, except Austin.
Austin flat out refused to go down on the field. After following the same cadence set by me the previous week, my gracious father delivered the goodies and returned to his grandson high on the embankment overlooking the field. They left.
The following two weeks we tried to attend, and either weather or circumstance prevented that from happening. I texted the coach and eventually we really did just give up. Conversion to soccer mom: pbbbt...FAIL...after only one game.
