I made a promise never to be one of those sports parents, loud, obnoxious, screaming from the sidelines. I rarely get upset watching sports on television. As a matter of fact, I pride myself on calmly and cooly passing judgment on plays on both sides of the field. So why do I have so much trouble watching my children play sports?
I broke my promise in the time it took me to write it down. I just can’t understand why I can’t let it go. Let’s face it. If I can’t even watch a six year old soccer game without yelling, screaming and losing my stoic, cool demeanor, then I’ll become one of those pariahs that everyone stares at on the sidelines.
That does not stop me from being critical of the way everyone else stomps around on the sidelines. Hypocrisy is one of my strong points.
I’ve been watching my son play indoor soccer the last few months, earning his first karate belt and refusing to take any instruction from me. How frustrating when I can actually help him in Karate. I’ve been a brown belt since Clinton, so long that the once deeply rich brown tone looks like a washed out watercolor. So it makes sense that he listen to my hard earned knowledge. Sense has no place in his calculations though.
According to my son, all six and a half years old of him, he knows everything about karate he’ll ever need to know. Same with soccer. I was a soccer brute with limited skills. Still, I’ll wager I know something more than my son—barely.
He refuses to acknowledge that I might have something to teach him. I seem to be a little more calm in this regard, at least for the first few minutes. Wanting him to do well doesn’t always translate into patience on my part and understanding on his.
I get so frustrated these days! It may also have something to do with my younger days.
My inability to suffer bad calls at any level of play and getting thrown out of a couple of games as a young adult for arguing calls is the last nail in the coffin. We never really lose those early ghosts. They hover around us continuously, clanking their Scroogian chains, reminding us that we can and should do better.
I’ve been chewing on this blog for about three weeks now, trying to figure out what particular point I’m trying to make besides a mea culpa of my bad behavior. It seems pretty clear to me now that I’m trying to ride my children to higher sports achievement than I could ever attain. I can live with that.
Kick that ball! Don’t fall down! Keep your eyes on the ball! Come on ref! Get in the game, would you! And don’t forget that you’re coming for a barbecue on Sunday. You better get it right!
For G-d’s sake! Would you sit down and shut up Coach Parsont! The game hasn’t even started yet.