She had been having a hard time for days;
Frustrated face, tears constantly threatening to brim her eyes.
After several times of her answering
“Nothing’s wrong! I’m just having a bad day for some reason,” I made a plan with her to take her ball and go to the local high school’s soccer field just to get her outside.
I’ve found there are few things that can’t be made better by sunshine and open space.
I thought for sure that kicking the soccer ball around would cure everything,
but after watching her miss several shots she normally would have had no trouble with, and even more frustrated sighs, I stood up and walked across the pitch, and without a word, pulled her close to me, silent for a second.
By the way she crumpled, I could see that, even though this was the first sunny day we’d had in a week, there was still a storm raging on the inside.
The list was long with all the things she felt were wrong;
She was too hot, her legs hurt, the sun was in her face.
“I’m not shooting right! I feel like I’m getting WORSE, even though I’m out here practicing!”
Hot tears dripped onto her jersey.
With her being my fourth one, I know by now that sometimes girls are just this way,
but what I read through her words was that the bottom line was simple:
She needed to hear and believe it would all be OK.
This one drives herself so hard, and demands perfection of herself in absolutely everything.
She gets straight A’s, and practices things without being told.
When she draws there will no doubt be the beginning of a wall made of balled up paper rejects forming by her side.
It has never been a thing I have put on her,
but sometimes the burdens we pick up all on our own are the ones that hold the most weight.
It was not lost on me that day that we stood on the 50 yard line as I told her that sometimes we all just have bad days.
Half our days will look sunny, and half our days will look like rain.
What matters is that we don’t give up.
How we view what kind of day we’re in depends on which way we decide to face.
I took that opportunity to talk to her about all the champions she tries to pattern herself after.
What stands out about them to her?
What is it in them that makes one more esteemed to her than the other?
I asked her this already knowing her answer:
What stands out is that, in certain people,
you can just sense the love for the game.
I reminded her that every single champion in the world made it to that point because of some hard thing they faced.
Maybe it was the negative voice of a stranger,
some roadblock in their way,
that they had to work through extreme poverty.
It was then her eyes lit up with understanding, and she asked me if I knew why the Brazillians were so good at soccer.
When I said no, she told me it is because they often train so poor that they have nothing on their feet to guard them against the sharp rocks and rough terrain.
She said the fact that many of them have learned to play in such rough conditions begins to build up their feet.
“Sometimes their feet actually form to be stronger, and better for soccer because they didn’t start off with cleats.”
And then she spoke words to her own heart.
I saw her get it.
“What starts off seeming like a challenge can turn into the thing that helps them succeed.”
This game of soccer, and of life, is not just about who scores the most goals.
Any person who loves either one knows it is about the heart of the whole thing.
One bad day does not mean you’ll have two.
If you miss a goal, just shoot again.
Encourage your teammates.
Learn to walk it off.
Never stop practicing.
Feel the pitch under your maybe still-bare feet.
Stop for a moment and turn your face to notice the difference of the sun and the wind.
The next day was new, and that day was an indoor soccer game where a much younger, smaller girl had recently been put on her team.
This younger girl is fierce, but small, and is often overlooked by the girls towering around her, capable of dominating her based on size alone.
It is not biased to say my daughter, Paige, is the very best one on her team,
but on this day I watched several times as she noticeably held back, and passed the smaller girl the ball, just so she would have a chance to play.
She had let go. Her shoulders were relaxed.
Sometimes when the fire dwindles the ember just needs gentle nurturing.
I sat in the stands with tears in my eyes, watching and nodding, knowing she had truly heard what I’d said yesterday.
That girl who is so hard on herself, and is so often looking down at a ball, juggling it with her feet as I speak to her doesn’t need to be asked,
“Are you listening to me?”
She only needed to hear
“It’s OK to fail.
Just get back up.
Your challenges can become victories.”
Mom Outnumbered
Hi! My name is Kerri Green; Wife to Justin, and mother to four highly entertaining daughters -Alena, Chloe, Tessa, and Paige. I am an artist, a writer, a daycare provider, a lover of people, a believer that there is humor and beauty in all things, and the author of Mom Outnumbered; a blog about real family life, and my observations of it. My goal is to make people laugh, to be there for them when they cry, and most importantly, to let them know that they are not at all alone in this up and down world. I live with my family in Sebastopol California, and I am opening the window into our life. So welcome! Come in. Sit down. Just please don’t mind the mysterious wet spots.
