Today was one of Hardy's soccer games. We are new to organized sports, as Hardy is only 4. My last voluntary contact with sports ended when I was about 9 years old, and I decided to give up my softball career. As one of my nicknames as a teenager at Governor's School was "Miss No Depth Perception" (not the most witty bunch of teenagers), you can guess Hardy inherited no sporting ability from me.
One of the things I admire (and fear a bit) about my son is his very vivid, creative, imagination. He spends a lot of time pretending to be a rooster (he "crows" in the morning to let us know he is awake), a monster truck, a fire engine, a train, a turtle, a ladybug, a cat, a dog, etc. Very rarely does he ever think he is a little boy. When one of his friends greets him when he arrives at school, he inevitably answers as whatever he is pretending to be that day (barks if he is a dog, revs his engine if he is a car, etc.). After some strange looks, and time spent around my son, my kids have realized he is in his own world and let him inhabit it.
It's fun to watch Hardy play soccer because he always has fun and plays his own game. What that game is no one has figured out yet. And he does not seem particularly interested in inviting people to share his game. It wasn't until the third game (after 4 practices as well) that he realized he is supposed to run after the ball. Before that he would just randomly run up and down the field. When he would be goalie, he would spend the time with his back to the field, probably pretending to be a fire engine. If he encounters the ball, he usually runs the other way, as in this picture.
Today was classic Hardy. When he was playing an offensive position (I am not sporty, so have no idea what that is), he would usually run away from the ball when it came near him. I am pretty sure at one point he was pretending to be a chicken (he had his arms like wings while he was running down the field). At one point, the coach put him in as goalie (the coaches do a great job of switching the kids around to all positions). Justin went over to stand near the goal and give him some encouragement. A ball starts coming his way. Justin yells, "Stop the ball, Hardy." So what does my literal son do? He walks out, puts his hand up in the stop position, and yells "stop" to the ball. Surprisingly, soccer balls do not yield to such persuasion, and the other team scored a goal.
I could not tell you what the score of the game ended up being. I am pretty sure we did not win (our team has not managed to score a goal yet this season, a point which bothers absolutely no one on the team). I could not even tell you most of the names of the kids on the team. But I can tell you that my son had a blast, running and playing in the fall air. Perhaps he is the one who has it right. Rather than worry and fret and try to fit other people's expectations, perhaps I should just relax and enjoy the fresh air. Perhaps I should relish the person I am, and not worry if no one else wants to play with me. The important thing is to get out there and to do your own thing.
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