sidelined

A post by the Divine Miss Crazybrave Zoe reminded me that I’ve been intending to update Sideliners about my son’s burgeoning soccer career. Particularly as he’s got a shiner to show for yesterday’s efforts (and no, it was not from me whacking him – he copped a ball in the face off a kids’ boot. Again.).

My son is a very hefty just-about-to-turn-six-but-looks-seven-or-eight kid. He has long legs, which means he is a very good runner. This is not something he got from my side of the family. He got the legs from his father, although it has to be said that his father couldn’t run either. Characteristics he did acquire from me include poor physical co-ordination, and a penchant for gazing at clouds, picking daisies out of the grass, ignoring the ball, ignoring the coach, crying copiously when hurt, refusing to eat half-time oranges and a habit of declaring he doesn’t want to play sport. Ever.

My son was always a bit of a sook, and a dreadful mummy’s boy (which I loved for a long time but find a bit embarrassing now). I have decided that I am going to be forceful. He’s not allowed to say he doesn’t want to go to soccer – he has to. When he hurts himself (every single game) I drop my usual soppy and cuddly mothering style and become a stiff upper lipper of the first magnitude. I grab him by the shoulders and say, ‘what would James Hird do? Does he cry when he’s hurt?’ Usually my boy agrees that James Hird does not cry when hurt, and bucks up. Yesterday he said, ‘what if James Hird has a broken leg?’ to which I quick-wittedly replied, ‘is your leg broken? No? Get out there and play!’ When he got hurt the second time I caught myself advising him that it was a good idea to remove ones head from the trajectory the ball was following (I’m a bit sick of the weekly head injury) and sent him back on.

It seems to be working. There are pleasing signs that he’s finding hidden reserves of resilience and interest in the beautiful game. He actually does enjoy running after the ball and he’s one of the faster kids on the ground. When he was confronted yesterday by a pack of three kids who wanted his ball, he did not baulk, but stood firm and tried to flick the ball out of their way. At another point he got the ball and started kicking it. At first he kicked it towards the enemy goal, but then, without prompting, he turned it round and headed the right way!! Despite copping a shiner he ran back on and played.

And, at the end of the game he felt tough. We took him home and finally, for the first time, got him riding his bike. With no guiding hand to steady it. He pedalled off, occasionally crashing in giggles on the grass, but mostly staying up. It was a big day for sporting achievement in Five’s house.