The sun was already down; the days get much shorter in September. I walked through a soccer field to go to another field in the back. Boys were scattered around the field, but as I walk closer, they gathered into a tight circle. I thought the practice was already over, but I heard the head coach asking the boys,
“What do you do if you’re tired?” I said to myself, “Raise your hand and ask for a rest?” No one answered. The coach became somewhat impatient and said,
“You work through it, right? You work hard! You don’t complain!”
I laughed. Probably a bit too loud; I saw the coach’s back stiffen. I laughed at my own answer, but there was no use explaining it. Obviously, I was not qualified as true soccer mom.
It was the first day for these boys to get together as a team under new parent coaches, and they were training for the upcoming tournament and the fall season.
Back in May, they had two days of tryouts. I was going to stay home, but my son said,
“Mom, you missed the first tryout, so you’re coming today, right?” I was still in my robe and was settling down in a couch with coffee and a magazine. But I now needed to fulfill my soccer mom duty.
When I arrived at the only turf field in town, the tryout was already in progress. I leaned over the fence, sipping from my coffee mug. The parents had been given explicit instructions to be silent. And I was amazed how clearly I could hear boys talk. They laugh, make jokes, encourage each other. When someone fell, he would be pulled up, dusted off and got smiled at, and then they went off to join the play again. “Oh, this is beautiful.” I was in awe. They looked happy, even exhilarated. “Is this what joy looks like?” I asked myself.
I wondered if they knew that they were in the tryout and some of them would make it to the A team in the fall and some would not? Of course they did, they loved soccer and wanted to play at the highest level in town. But at this moment, they were happy that they were on the field and playing their best soccer.
Then it hit me; they were on their own. No coaches were shouting at them, no parents sighing and commenting from the sideline. The freedom and the fact that they were in the competition somehow elated them.
On the second weekend in September, the new team played four games together. It was wonderful to see that they were coming together as a team. But I was a little disappointed by a coach of one of the opponents. He shouted at his team all sorts of things. “Get the ball!” when it was obvious they couldn’t catch up from that far behind, unless the boys were superheroes. When a boy lost a ball to our team, the coach yelled at the boy. “Look what you did!”
I was upset because I identified with the boy. I knew this was a bad habit of mine, but couldn’t help myself. Besides, the coach was a heavy guy, and didn’t look like he could run at all. In fact, he was shouting from a chair. I imagined that he might have felt as if he was playing a video game, as his expectations were totally unreasonable. “Hey! These boys are alive and real, and have feelings!” I wanted to shout at him.
I call myself a lukewarm soccer mom. I support my son’s soccer enthusiasm, largely because I believe one can learn many things by doing something wholeheartedly. Clearly he can learn soccer skills, but he can also learn how to work with teammates and how to deal with the coaches who have much more authority than teachers and parents. These are the life skills that he can rely on throughout his life. And most important of all in my view, is to learn how to lose with grace.
If you are an average person like me, you tend to lose many more times than you win. It’s just what happens in life. Maybe you find out that you’re not equipped to be a doctor or pianist or whatever you dreamed of as a kid. But the more you lose, the more you find out about yourself, and along the way you find a way that you can be of use in society. But without grace, you may continue to be sad or upset, and won’t be able to move on to the next endeavor.
“Winning isn’t everything; it’s the only thing” is a well-known quotation in the US. But that sentiment isn’t shared much in Japan. Twice a year, high school baseball teams play at Koshien stadium to become the number one team in Japan. The losing team’s players scoop sand from the baseball field into small containers that they brought from home, and go back to their hometown with it. In a way, they’ve come prepared to lose. And all the people who watch them on TV, feel for them and send them kind words. This is a rite of passage to adulthood. For Japanese, a loss is inevitable and everyone lives with sorrow.
I’m lukewarm about winning and don’t have any aspirations for my son having a professional soccer career. But some people mistake me for a true soccer mom and give me advice. Most often I hear is “You should give your son more options for his future other than becoming a soccer player.” Someone even said “He may break his leg or neck and wouldn’t be able to play anymore.” I said, “Please have happy thoughts.” But really, don’t hurt my son even in hypothetical scenarios! And please relax and let him dream and have fun; he is only ten years old!
My son has a good head on his shoulders and he’ll shape his own future by experiencing some wins and many losses. He’ll find a way. But my words don’t seem to reach my advisers. Once they classify me as a genuine soccer mom, they can’t see me as I am. I’m resigned to lose this battle.
My son plays soccer with joy. He learns Taekwondo for fun, and plays piano with pain. Nobody has ever asked me “Is he going to be a Taekwondo master?” or “Is he going to be a pianist?” But somehow, soccer and other team sports seem to turn on a special switch in Americans’ minds. Is this because they connect team sports with careers or financial success or fame? Or do parents project their dreams onto their young ones? It is a mystery to me.
Several years ago, I went to a magic show seminar for kids. My kids learned a couple of magic tricks and were very excited. The magician asked, “What do you think is the most important thing in a magic show?” Several kids offered answers. The magician responded, “Yes, those are all important, but the key is to remember that a magic show is entertainment. People come to a show to have fun. So, if you made a mistake in a trick, but you entertained them with words, then they’ll be happy. Your show is a success.” I was intrigued by this.
Kids working hard is great. Learning to play together is wonderful. But the real magic is to keep their joy alive. Simple. And yet for grownups, this can be real hard work.