Soccer Mom

I've been driving a minivan for nearly four years, but only yesterday did I become a real soccer mom. 

Yes, I signed the boys up for soccer. I'm trying to do my part to help them overcome their genetic predisposition for unathleticism. 

As with all group activities, I knew it would be a gamble. They played T-ball last summer and although they had fun, they also seemed to take turns having meltdowns at every game. Still, Aidan has been talking about wanting to play soccer for some time and I figured that it would be preferable to one of the more dangerous (and expensive) sports, like hockey or football. 

So we suited them up in their little YMCA jerseys and told them to listen and have fun, and off they went. The first half was just drills and they both did fine, although it took Owen an eternity to dribble the ball around the perimeter of the field, as he muttered "I need to focus!" to himself. 

Then it was time for the match. You know, because 30 minutes of practice seems like ample preparation for a group of 6 and 7 year olds who may or may not have ever played the game before. Aidan got his coveted position as goalie. Owen was a forward. 

And that is where the boys' experiences diverged. Aidan ate up the extra attention as goalie and didn't even seem to take it personally when the ball got past him. 

Owen, on the other hand, lost track of the ball and began to get agitated. Attempts to encourage him to go after the ball only made it worse, as he perceived us to be scolding him for not going after the ball, when he was still busy trying to make sense of the kids running past him in all directions. It was just too much.

To their credit, his coaches were patient, encouraging and even asked us if there was something they could do to make him feel better. I didn't play the autism card - it felt unnecessary. His coaches looked bewildered enough. Plus, the fact that he has autism doesn't make a fit in the middle of a soccer game less distracting for all of the other players. 

At one point, the coach came over to suggest that maybe chess would be a good game for him. She was kidding, but she's probably right. 

I felt bad for Owen because he was so frustrated with himself - we could see that he was struggling between absolutely hating the game and wishing he could play it. But I also felt bad for Aidan because while we were busy comforting Owen, he was still out there making some nice moves, and he needed our attention too. 

In the end, we left with one extremely happy and proud boy (Aidan ended up scoring a goal!) and one sad and frustrated boy who vowed to never play soccer again.

It would be really easy for me to say that I'm just not going to subject Owen to organized sports anymore. I could make that decision for him out of my intense desire to protect him from feeling scared or getting hurt. But I don't think that would be fair. It feels too much like letting the autism dictate what he can and can't do. If he decides he doesn't like sports, well, hey, he'll be in great company, but it's not my place to decide for him...even if it means I have to hurt right along side of him when things don't go well. 

So, next week we'll go back to soccer and maybe he'll play or maybe he won't. Either way, maybe he'll at least pick up enough knowledge of the sport to help him survive gym class. Here's hoping.