Soccer Is Not For Wimps Or Maybe, For Brainiacs

Just talked to a boatload of little girls dressed in bright yellow soccer outfits in McDonald's. I asked if they had won, and they burst into jubilant voice to tell me they'd won, four goals to one. I then asked if the other team was a poor team and they told me with enthusiasm that they were indeed not. These girls seemed like champs through and through.

I recalled my own spazzy children playing soccer. Their team seldom won and it was due in part to the paralysis that would overtake them both when the ball would look like it was coming their way. Ted Rees, their coach would have major vessels ready to burst in his neck as he yelled for them to keep running. In their defense, they were young, but it was discouraging. In their further defense, Ben later shone as a goalie.

But maybe they weren't such chickens. Maybe just prematurely wise. I got hit by a kicked soccer ball for the first time at Family Home Evening during activity time. It hurt a lot, but rather than appear like a baby in front of my children, I went in early to fix the treat. I felt wise and tricky at the same time.