There are times when being a mom (and dad) just hurts. It’s not bad enough that you have to deal with your own emotions, sometimes you have to live through and feel the emotions of your kids, and I swear that’s worse. It’s like you could literally slice through my boney chest and straight into my heart and it wouldn’t hurt as bad. You feel the pain they feel, the anger or frustration of the situation, and, down deep, the realization that you have to be the responsible adult and have the responsible adult reaction, and that this will, somehow, be a life lesson for your kid. Whether you like it or not, and whether it’s a good lesson or a bad one.
We’re at one of Jord’s soccer tournaments in Cincinnati this weekend, and even though Jord’s not the best on her team, she’s really been kicking it in and working really, really hard in practice and in games, and as often as I’ve offered to allow her to quit, she’s become more and more determined, and more and more committed.
And she has a really good team. Great athletes, but also, really sweet girls. And she likes them a lot. So every time she sits most of the time on the bench, it really breaks her heart. She just wants to play, to be a part of the team she’s been with so long and come to love.
And this morning, in her first game, she was the only one who didn’t play at all. Not at all. And I can tell as I watch her little face from across the field exactly what she’s thinking and feeling. This wasn’t the first time, you know, but it was the worst, and I was mad, really, really mad. It didn’t get better when I got across the field and she put on a brave front while the coach gave them the after-talk, and then she walked over to me and lost it and started crying. I could have choked up nails and spit them at people. I could have. I still feel a little nauseous like 12 hours later, just thinking about it.
Does every parent go through this? I was never an athlete as a kid, so I’m just not sure what I’m supposed to think or what I’m supposed to do. I wish she would just quit, really, because she’s got so many talents, so many skills. But she doesn’t want to. She wants to keep on trying, keep on playing.
So, ultimately, Kevin talked to the coach, and Jord played a lot in the second game. She’s happy now, and in the room of another player with a bunch of girls. She seems to have broken out of her shell this trip, and the other players are talking about how much Jord’s talking. (Oddly enough, she’s usually shy around them.) But tomorrow is another day, another one or two games. And because they could get to the championship, I may have to relive the same nightmare tomorrow, because they won’t let her play as much again. I want to hurl, or cry, or rip something apart with my bare hands.
Sometimes the parent-thing just hurts.
