I'm Lindsay Ferrier, a Nashville writer with a passion for family travel, exploring Tennessee, and raising kids without losing my mind in the process. This is where I share my discoveries, along with occasional deep thoughts, pop culture tangents and a sprinkling of snark. Want to get in touch? Use the CONTACT form at the top of the page.
August 26, 2010
After years of prayer, fasting, soul searching and supplication on the part of my soccer-obsessed husband, the stars finally aligned.
The unthinkable happened.
God heard our fervent prayers and presented us with…
A FERRIER BOY WHO WAS ON A REAL TEAM AND HAD A JERSEY WITH A NUMBER ON IT AND STUFF AND WAS ABOUT TO PLAY HIS FIRST GAME OF SOCCER.
So what if he was only three?
HE WAS GOING TO PLAY SOCCER, HE WAS. IT WAS WRITTEN IN THE STARS. FATED. THIS BOY WOULD PLAY SOCCERFFFGGRRRR.!11!
There was only one problem.
Instead, I sent him out onto the sun-scorched field, because we live in the south, where rowdy rough boys eat hot days like this for breakfast!
SOCCERRRRFFFFGGRRR!!11! WOOT.
After a few moments of total confusion getting his bearings, Bruiser gamely joined his team’s starting line-up. People yelled at him, thinking he was facing the wrong way, but really he had developed a secret strategy of being ready in the event that the ball somehow ricocheted off one of the wobbly peanuts on the field and ended up behind the Burgundy Bobbleheads, at which point Bruiser would be the only one to see it, whereupon he would, with great fanfare, kick it safely back into scoring position.
What did happen was that for a few glorious minutes, our boy ran after the ball with an appropriate amount of enthusiasm on a hot hot hot day. And then fate intervened… and sweat began dripping into his eyes.
It was not easy no problem convincing our fearless three-year-old to leave the shade and return to the blazing field. Miraculously Eagerly, he rejoined the small handful of other boys who had been conned into playing for a few more minutes, and proceeded to run about with the wild grace of a very short, stubby gazelle. Maybe he’s got a little to learn when it comes to actually kicking the ball, but I will say this…
He gets it from me.
Unfortunately, even geniuses get sweat in their eyes when it’s freaking hot outside.
WATER BREAK!!
Bruiser is a stubborn one, and I worried that this was the end of the game for him. Plenty of other boys were in tears on the sidelines at this point, refusing to go back out on the field.
He surprised me.
Bruiser made it through all but the last couple of minutes of the game. At that point, I’m not sure how I figured it out, but I just had a sense that he was done.
Call it a mother’s intuition.
Who cares whether the Burgundy Bobbleheads won or lost? (We lost.) What mattered was that my son displayed a tremendous amount of endurance in the face of adversity. I was so proud of him, I could have burst.
I was also proud of the fact that the bribery cost for this game was a mere $4. That’s pretty good if you ask me….
‘BRUISER’S FIRST GAME’ MILESTONE…
COMPLETE.
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