To Be Or Not To Be A True Soccer Mom

To Be or Not to Be a True Soccer Mom

So I read a book a while ago about predators – and I'm not talking about T-Rex - and it said that one should never, ever drop a kid off at practice and drive away, which I have done on several occasions out of sheer lack of time. Apparently, predators are paying attention to whose mom drops them off and whose stays. So if you're one of those pressed-for-time moms who swings by the soccer field to deposit your kid and then whips over to the drug store and then after the game a parent you don't know asks your kid over for a play date, you are to assume (according to the book) that there is some probability, no matter how small, that he could be a child molester. Especially if he (or she) has a mustache. The book didn't mention mustaches, but I heard once that many child molesters do have mustaches, and I have (unfortunately) had brushes with quite a few of the former over the years in my personal and professional experience, and when I think about it, a good percentage of them, maybe even 100%, have indeed had mustaches. Barring any repressed memories, I feel lucky to say that my encounters were in fact only brushes. So here I have already failed on three accounts. First, as a writer, as I have veered off on such a tangent, you would hardly know this is a commentary about soccer. Or moms. Second, as a mom, because I have unwittingly placed my children in peril, and third, as a soccer mom for obvious reasons.

I don't coach soccer. Or ref. I will never coach or ref, despite my pangs of guilt when I check off the “no thank you” box on the form that asks if I'd like to help out. And no right-minded person would want me to coach, anyway. I didn't play soccer until my senior year of high school when I got a good bike and could finally get off the farm. I rode six miles each way up and down steep hills so that I could participate in sports. Since I started soccer so late in life, I was embarrassed to admit I did not know the rules, so I just “played in the dark” so to speak. Whenever I really put in a good effort and went after the ball, I got called for some transgression or another, for which I had no idea why. I know little more in my old age about the rules of soccer than I did then, and so I'm going to leave it at that. I do have to say that I don't often yell from the sidelines much. That's good isn't it? Except for the occasional admonition to my kid to pay attention and get his head out of the clouds.

I hate to admit this to my peers, but until last week I had never actually sat and watched my kids' soccer games. Blame it on sleep deprivation or the fact that I like to socialize, but I usually wander off in search of conversation, even if it has to happen three fields away. It's such a treat each week to see who's on the opposing team, and I usually end up crossing the field to talk to friends, while paying no attention to the game whatsoever, until their kid makes a goal and I reflexively cheer for their kid and their team, and then I get the hairy eyeball from my husband who is dutifully watching the game from the correct side and cheering for the correct team. It doesn't seem to matter to him that the friends' kid is infinitely better at soccer than our kid and deserves kudos for an excellent play. Well, I may not cut the muster as a soccer mom, but no one can say that I'm a poor sport.

So In conclusion, I don't know what anyone really has to do to sport a bumper sticker that says “Soccer Mom.” I can think of a few things I feel more qualified to have on a bumper sticker, such as “Brain Dead Mom” or “Caution! Mom on autopilot - do dot follow!” or “It's past 6:30 and you're on your way to soccer – do you know where your children are?”... So even though I've survived several seasons of soccer, I still don't know what elusive cluster of traits I have to possess to be able to call myself a soccer mom. Does sitting for three or four hours at a stretch watching a ball zig zag across the field qualify me, or do I have to do something else a little more special? How about washing uniforms, or at the very least yelling at the kids to go and find their soccer socks at the bottom of the hamper and get them on right now cause we're late for practice? What if I have to pay a chiropractor because I put out my back wrestling on cleats and socks and shin guards - would that do it? Is there something special I have to wear, or a particular way I'm supposed to carry myself? I'm not going to worry about that now (not that I'm really worried at all), because I've been up since 4:15 writing this and I have to be at the soccer field at 8. At this point I'm going to focus less on being a soccer mom and more on being a nice mom.