be-musings

I remember what it was like to play soccer from when I was 9 years old. I couldn't wait to sign up. My sister Carol also played with me. I remember taking extra shifts one game, because she was feeling sick or had a side ache. Never play on the same team as your sister, especially when you fight a lot already. As you can tell, it is something that still might come up at future family gatherings. The time I had to run like heck because my sister was too sick to play. That rates right up there with the smoking stories...which I won't tell here. She is still tougher than me and I'm scared of her.
But that wasn't what this post was going to be about, as you can tell by the title. This is the soccer sequel. There won't be any redeeming lessons in it, just admissions of a soccer mom.
Matthew was hesitant to get into the tick of the play, because he was smart. He knew the chances of getting kicked were great. Heck, I knew that when I was his age. But, since he is a boy and boys are supposed to be tough, I couldn't let on that he really should be scared.
It became frustrating that my boy wouldn't chase the ball, and would back up when it came to him. I knew he could do well if he wanted to, and tried to convince him that going to get the ball was what the sport was about. But it didn't work very well. So things needed to get drastic. I took him aside when he was off the field, and we practised shimmying to get the ball. If I accidentally kicked him I didn't let him stop playing. It was good for him to know it wouldn't hurt. I made him kick me on purpose. He did so lightly at first, but I got him to kick me harder and harder, grinning at him so he would know that it didn't hurt. And honestly, it didn't. That's a technique I wouldn't use now that he is only 30 pounds lighter than me. The day is soon coming that he will be able to take me at every sport. Especially wrestling.
To get Matthew to really focus on trying to get the ball I racked my brain to think of something that he could imagine it being. Something that was rewarding for him, and that he really liked. Candy...yeah that was it. I was the freaky parent telling him "When you see that ball, pretend it's candy that you really want and GO GET IT." We practised that while we were kicking each other's shins. I would give him candy pep talks. Not because I wanted him to win the game, but because I wanted him to conquer the fear.
You know, he liked candy a bit, but now he absolutely loves it. Maybe I can use that philosophy somehow about homework now. Nah, he might start licking the books. And trust me, his books are already borderline food poisoned with how he stores his lunch during school.