Stepping Up to the Plate

My husband, Mike, got suckered into coaching recreational soccer in the fall. When Mikey’s team didn’t have a coach and the call for volunteers went out, he wasn’t quick enough to take a step back.

But being the good guy that he is, he rose to the challenge.

He also got railroaded into being a “co-leader” of Mikey’s Cub Scout group last year when the kid was only a Lion. I use quotes because the guy who was supposed to actually lead ended up being a dud and my husband had to pick up the slack. This year he decided to just take matters into his own hands and be the leaders of the Bears – since he was taking on those duties, anyway.

And it seems the soccer organization graciously decided to just roll over Mike’s coaching duties to the spring season, as well.

As such, my husband is vying for Dad of the Year status.

Anyway … the thing about 6- and 7-year-old boys is that they don’t listen for crud.

Boy Scouts is anarchy, which I truly believe is due to the timing; they meet from 7 to 8:15 p.m. on a Thursday night, which is pretty late for the younger guys. They are excited and rowdy, and there is a lot of them, and their energy echoes throughout the elementary school cafeteria where they meet.

It’s all that the dads can do to get them to be still and quiet for the opening Pledge of Allegiance and oath. If they can wrangle the kids long enough to go over a project and earn a badge, that’s a bonus.

Usually when Mike and Mikey come home, one of them has enough energy to power a rocket ship to the moon, and the other has a headache. I’ll let you guess which is which.

But at least Boy Scouts only meets one Thursday night a month. The rest of the events are fun activities like hikes, the campout, the pinewood derby, and even a pumpkin patch setup for the local church.

Soccer, however, is a weekly dose of H-E-double-hockey-sticks. This season the team is something like 12 kids, and they are all high energy, competitive, rough, and – because they are young – take turns getting emotional, no one likes to lose, no one can focus, and some clearly decided on the first Saturday that soccer isn’t their thing but since their parents paid for the whole season they’re being forced to show up.

Last week my husband made several kids – including our own – run laps for “unnecessary roughness,” he sat one kid because he kept using a derogatory term for the male anatomy, and he had to keep turning one child around and facing him toward the correct goal.

This was in addition to the usual gripes from kids who don’t like to have to rotate sitting out for 2-minute intervals when the teams are uneven, having to constantly yell, “Guys, listen up!” when they are all talking while my husband is trying to give direction, and all the other things that go into coaching.

However, when I tell my husband, “Next time, don’t volunteer,” he goes quiet before admitting, “I like doing it for Mikey.”

This is the first season we are doubling up sports on a Saturday, so in addition to soccer in the morning, Mikey is also playing flag football in the afternoon.

It’s also the first time a team will have a weekly practice (Monday evenings), in addition to the Saturday game.

Well, as is becoming par for the course, two weeks before the start of the season an email went out saying that many teams (including Mikey’s) didn’t have a coach.

I forbid my husband from volunteering. I said something along the lines of, “Let someone else step up,” “You have enough on your plate,” and “For the sake of your lunacy, sit this one out.”

Luckily, after about a week – and after a second email went out – someone else stepped up to coach the team. With my blessing, Mike said he would happily help assist if need be, but with the warning that he really doesn’t know much about the sport. He watches plenty of football but hasn’t played since he was a kid and he definitely doesn’t know much about the rules of flag.

The coach was so appreciative that he informed Mike that he would in fact be missing the first game of the season, so Mike will be on his own.

No good deed goes unpunished.

So, knowing the first game is on the horizon, we went to the first practice this week bracing for impact. The team is technically first- through third-graders, but Mikey is one of only two first-graders, and the other 10 players are all third-graders.

And I could immediately see, hear, and just feel the difference that just those two grade levels make in the maturity of the players. Yes, the boys are still energetic, loud, have to be reigned in at times and reminded to listen, but they are also much more focused, invested in the game, and show more comradery and sportsmanship – and skill.

After the practice, my husband got in the truck, turned to me, and with a genuine smile on his face said, “That was fun!”

On the way home I texted a friend who also has a rowdy 7-year-old boy (three months older than mine), stating a similar sentiment as above, and telling her it gave me hope that our kids won’t be animals forever.

Her response was quick: “I hate to burst your bubble but I just heard on the John Tesh radio show that psychologists say 8 is the worst year of childhood as far as behavior and attitude goes.”

Needless to say I’m in the market for a new friend, if anyone wants to step up to the plate.

Holly Crocco is editor of the Putnam County Times/Press and mom of a 7-year-old. She can be reached at editorial@putnampresstimes.com.