You know what’s crazy? I’ll tell you what’s crazy™
Watching my son sit on the side lines in street clothes. It’s hard watching him stand around while other kids limber up. It’s painful watching him work out the goalie by throwing the ball at him. It’s disheartening watching him sit on the bench when he could come in and make an impact in the game.
The simple version: My kid’s injured.
It’s funny how vested you become in your child’s world. Remember when you were selfish and it was all about you?
When you have kids, some how, somewhere along the way, you get detoured into selflessness.
Perhaps it starts with wiping asses and noses and mopping up spit. Perhaps its just part of the universal DNA of nurturing.
When your kid hurts, you hurt.
So I’m sitting on the side lines and watching the game. I’m cheering with the other parents, rooting for the same kids I always root for, but it’s different.
It’s like I’m watching the game on TeleMundo or something. It just feels different.
I don’t have any skin in the game. I want to win, I want the boys to do well, but my spark is missing.
Why do I feel this way? Because my son is MIA. He’s on I.R.
The doctor took one look at my kid’s growth plate and said, “whoa little man.”
What’s the problem doctor? Isn’t it just achy Knees from growing?
“Hmmmm? I think we need an MRI,” he says.
He ordered an MRI for two reasons. Either he wants to get to the bottom of the pain that has been affecting my son for months now, or he wants to charge me $1,800 dollars for an exam that is seriously over priced and will once again destroy my ability to adequately balance my check book.
The problem? After a 10 years of round the clock soccer practices and friendlies and tournaments and wind sprints, the kid’s knees are worn down like a pair of disc brakes on a NYC taxi.
ENOUGH. OUCH. BACK OFF JACK.
The boy’s knees have been aching for months. He will play a game and then walk up the stairs like someone’s grandpa.
He will run up the field and then get back into position like a boy with curvature of the spine.
We thought it was growing pain. We hoped it was growing pains. It might be growing pains.
After 14 years, he has finally shot up. He has sprouted, perhaps growing 3 inches, maybe more.
In the garden of life, he is a weed, that caught hold of some nutrients and sunshine and sprouted through the dirt.
Growth is good. Growth is needed. But growth has come with a price. The price? Sore knees.
For months I’ve been calling it growing pains. Soccer parents have joined the discussion saying “of course, he’s growing.”
In one visit, the doctors said maybe, maybe not.
They said maybe he needs a procedure. He definitely needs rest. Doctors say they won’t be sure till they do an MRI.
In the meantime, pull the plug on soccer, they say.
It sounds easy, but it’s not so easy. It’s been a way of life for all of his life. It’s been a way of life for much of my recent life. Weekend games, away trips to arm pit cities in Alabama. Camaraderie with other soccer dads and moms. We root for each other’s kids. We compare and contrast life in 35 minute increments, the time of a half of soccer.
Soccer is consuming and it’s no wonder a pair of knees begin to break down. Practice: 2 times a week. Games: 2 times per week. In between meetings and social activities and soccer related stuff. Always something all the time.
It’s laborious. It’s a full time job. It’s also fun.
Suddenly he’s in street clothes on the sideline. It’s a vacuum of soccer emptiness. I’ve stepped out of a space capsule and the void is expansive.
He has missed practice. He has missed a tournament. He has missed a game. He is going to miss tryouts.
It’s disorienting. Like reading a book using a mirror.
Tryouts are next week. The coach is brand new. He doesn’t know my son from a card board cut out at a theme park.
It’s hard to make a case for your spot on a team when you can’t even kick a ball. And perhaps if you can’t kick a ball you shouldn’t worry about making your case for anything. Why? Because you can’t kick a damn ball.
So that is the dilemma.
All soccer all the time to cold turkey. It’s like drinking coffee your whole life and suddenly waking up to warm milk.
Just doesn’t have the jam to kick start your day.
So for now it’s wait and see. What will the MRI say? Is it more rest? Is it something surgical? Will he play this year? Will he play for the same team or move down to another squad?
It’s what makes life worth living right? Never quite know how it will all turn out till it all turns out.
Life’s Crazy™