I never anticipated this but I am one of those parents. One of those parents who wants their kid to be good at sports. I admit it. Lennon's first soccer game was last week. And he was tired. As in stayingupwaytoolateandwakingupbeforethesun tired. You know what that means.
The starting whistle blew and the kids started running. Except Lennon. He stood in the middle of the field crying with his hands on his hips. And he kept crying...and crying...and crying. He was that kid. That kid bawling on the field without an injury. Before long they subbed him out and we asked what was wrong. His response, "They're not using my ball!" It was painful to watch.
To make matters worse, the other team had this massive kid named Kevin who looked at least six years old and scored goal...after goal...after goal. And each goal was accompanied by him high-fiving his dad who just nodded like, "Awww yeah that's my kid." I think the score was Us: 0, Kevin: 20.
The game ended at last and Tod and I exchanged looks like, "Oh well, maybe he'll be good at science or something."
The Good News: Yesterday was game #2 and much better. No whining, no crying. Although he still lacks aggression; I found myself screaming, "Lennon, quit picking flowers and run!"