Soccer Saturday

Today was the last game of our regular soccer season.  (And when I say “our,” I mean my 11-year old daughter’s soccer team.)

Our opponent was a team that beat us earlier in the season (score 2-1).  As a matter of fact, the team was undefeated all season.

So, my daughter was determined that not only would she score her second goal of the season, but her team would also beat this opponent.

From a parental standpoint, watching soccer games every Saturday since September has been pleasant.  The weather is almost-always gorgeous here and even if it’s a little warm, sitting under an umbrella while feeling the sun warm the tops of my feet is not a bad way to pass time.  Oh!  And watching our team of girls improve and have a winning season has been a thrill, too.

Unfortunately, our team did not win today, but the score was only 1-0.  The other team made a goal which our coach questioned (our goalie had her hand on the ball and a player on the opposing team kicked it out of her hand which is against the rules).  We did not score at all.

And so, we lost a hard-fought game.  (But it was sunny and about seventy degrees.  Perfect.  Delightful.  Lovely.)

As we walked down the sideline afterward, I wanted to mumble mean things under my breath at the opponents.  I felt disappointed and annoyed and frustrated that things did not go our way.

But I’m a grown-up.  I didn’t say anything, just passed by lugging my chair and umbrella.

My daughter joined me and we headed to the car.

She said, “That was so unfair!  That goal was not even a goal!”  And then she said things like, “I’m so mad!  I want to punch them in the face!”

And, of course, I told her that she shouldn’t say such things, that they played a good game and should be proud of the effort and sometimes things just don’t go our way and besides, they should have made goals.  Pretty much it sounded like Charlie Brown’s teacher, I’m sure.

Anyway, I thought maybe that’s one difference between being 11-years old and being 48-years old.  She expresses those ugly feelings and I suppress them. (At least she expresses them privately only to me!)

Another difference?  I spent my afternoon napping while she spent it not napping.

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