Back in my early 20s, I swore I'd never grow up to be "one of those women." I wasn't going drive a minivan. I was keeping my career AND keeping my name. My kids (if I even had any) wouldn't play soccer just because every other kid in suburbia does.
I had grown up in a two working-parent household, never played team sports, and this was fine with me. Sure, I had been on "teams" before, but nothing requiring catching, throwing, kicking or hand-eye coordination. My team sport experience had been decidedly less about cooperation and more about individual performance. I swam and tumbled competitively, and while you may give your teammates high fives following a good performance on the uneven bars, you're never going to get the same collective high as when you turn a double play. "Sweet flip turn, dude!" just doesn't have the same ring.
Then I somehow found myself married to a confirmed jock, a man who had played baseball from childhood, lettered in multiple sports in high school, and still plays softball year round. While the rest of my pledges to myself were negotiable, if we had kids, there just wasn't any question that they would be playing sports, and those sports would start with little league.
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| My hubby, the confirmed jock |
I resisted at first. Until my son's preschool teacher told me that while he was a well-behaved kid, well-adjusted, and independent; his group interaction was lacking. Having just had an annual review where my boss used niceties to express "You're stubborn and not a team player," I took this to heart. Were my (perceived) personality shortcomings a result of my not having played team sports? I couldn't take that chance with my kid.
Thus began my foray into the world of youth organized sports. I plunged in head first, signing our son up for t-ball at the earliest possible moment. He could start in a nearby community at (almost) 4 rather than waiting until he was almost 5 in our neighborhood. He seemed excited about it, that is, until the "assessments." (Yes folks, evaluations for 4 year-olds playing t-ball. I could not make this stuff up if I tried.) On the day of tryouts, he ran away crying when it was his turn to show his stuff. I had to collect him at the swings.
I thought: What have I done? Surely I've turned him off to a lifetime of physical fitness and activity. I should have stuck with my original no-team-sports-plan.
As the season progressed, my child spent game time playing in the dirt, with his glove either on the wrong hand or on his head. He whined about early game times and begged to stay home on Saturday mornings. Practice was out of the question. Clearly, we had made a big mistake.
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| My firstborn, playing his version of defense |
At some point toward the end of the season, without my discerning it, the winds shifted. My independent, stubborn offspring had embraced the team spirit. He shouted "Good game!" to his fellow Diamond Jaxx as he walked off the field. He gave high fives at the snack bar. Alas it was almost too late. He was finally asking about his game time on the first Saturday after the season ended.
It's been 3 years, and my kid is happily playing his third season of little league (he took a year break after that less than enthusiastic first season). He approaches his practices with seriousness and dedication which belie his 7 years. He is often dressed in his uniform on Saturday morning before his dad and I are even up. As much as I love watching him play, given that I never had the team sport experience, I will gladly return to my sleep-in Saturdays at the first sign that it's no longer fun for him. . . of course he has a little brother who is 100% wired for playing ball, so I doubt that I will be getting Saturday morning shuteye any time soon, but that is a story for another post.
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| Two happy Diamond Jaxx |
According to my former boss, I'd even made some progress over the past 4 years on my team skills too, but in the end I found it was easier to go free agent and play for a new team. I've spent a very productive season and a half with them.
