My 7 year old had outdoor soccer practice on Sunday morning.
It was cold, somewhere in the high 30’s. I took as many photographs as I could before my fingers felt like they were going to tip off. After an hour and a half, I had to intervene and ask when it was going to end, just to save my own digits. You had the feeling it could go on forever. They played on the high school football turf, two teams to the field. That’s a whole lot bigger than an indoor gymnasium.
This is a new group for my boy. He’s been playing soccer since he could walk but we’ve always belonged to the same club, which only played in the Spring and Fall. My boy was tearing up the wood floor in the living room so you can imagine how happy I was when I heard about a league that practiced through the winter. The image of a dog run popped into mind and I signed up the next day. It was and has been a beautiful, beautiful thing.
What I love about this soccer club is that it’s run like a Montessori school. You’ve got little kids and big kids playing together and it’s the big kids who end up teaching a lot of the game to the little kids. I love watching them try to work it all out.
I couldn’t stop watching my boy. He’s taking it all in, playing the game he loves. And he’s learning. Last year he told me when he plays, he only sees the ball. I thought it was adorable but I realize now how much more he needs to see. He’s realizing it, too.
There was one pose that stilled my heart. Whenever the head coach blew the whistle in order to teach them something specific, my boy stopped moving, wrapped both arms behind his back and clasped his hands in complete attention.
I was so proud. I am so proud. My boy is a listener.