Black or Red...

Today began early. Originally, I was going to join my softball team for a 6 AM hike. This conflicted somewhat with our youngest son's early morning soccer try-out and my sore knees. After some late-night contemplation (and more ice on the knees), I decided to forgo the hike and focus on our son this morning.  

Colton is an interesting boy. The youngest of four, he's easily our most competitive child and has been this way for all of his seven years, which confirms my theory that drive comes from the inside.  I've been watching our kids over the years, looking for what it is that drives them.  I am an over-the-top competitive person when it comes to sports, but I've worked hard not to push our kids. I believe that it needs to come from them. My husband's non-competitive genes have kicked in somewhat and our kids, for the most part, have great balance.  That's really what I'd like to see, kids who are well-rounded.  At least that's what I say.  I must admit that when I see the competitive drive of our youngest son, it thrills me. 

I specifically remember the first time that I understood how competitive I was. I was in the first grade. We lived in Denver. It was my first field day and I had no idea what that really meant, other than I got to wear tennis shoes and play outside all day. I was new to the school and don't remember having any friends. I'm sure I must have, because I do remember that it was in this same class, later in the year, that the teacher had me sit in the hall for being a disruption to my "friends" in class.  It's the only time in my life that I've ever been sent to the hall, so it must have had a significant impact on me. My younger sister, who was in kindergarten at the time, attended the same school. I remember, as I sat in the hall, how I hoped and prayed that her class would not walk past me and see me out there. If word got back to mom and dad, I was sure to be in big trouble. Plus, I had already decided that they really didn't need to know about the hall incident, since my crime was unintentional and based on sharing.

I had gotten these fabulous knee-high, shiny white boots that zipped all the way up. Apparently, as I zipped and unzipped them repeatedly in class, the other kids wanted to take a turn.  As the oldest in my family, I was taught that sharing was good. My teacher, on the other hand, did not embrace this theory. At least when it came to my boots. I do remember her asking me to pay attention, but I also remember some of my "friends" had not yet had a chance to zip and unzip the boot. So, I went with my gut and allowed the last few kids their turn. I ended up in the hall and I don't remember wearing those boots to school ever again.

Anyway, back to field day. I remember that my dad had come to watch and that meant a lot to me. I remember that he waved to me from the fence and I knew, if my dad came from work to watch, that field day must be important. The first race was the 50 yard dash. I got the blue ribbon. The next race was the one my dad talked about for years. All the kids took one shoe off and gave it to the teacher. The teacher made a huge pile of shoes about 70 yards out. When the gun went off, all of the kids raced to the pile of shoes to put their shoe on and the first one back to the starting line won. I don't remember getting a ribbon, but I do remember that my dad was laughing and laughing over by the fence when I ran through the finish line. I thought maybe I had done something wrong or forgotten something - there was no one around me. I looked back and the rest of the class was sitting by the pile, still putting their shoes on. That's the moment I realized that I liked to win and wanted to win. It's been like that my whole life. I left field day with a handful of blue ribbons and a happy dad. The great thing about my dad was that he'd have been happy if I came home without any ribbons, but I learned later that he was as competitive as I was. It thrilled him.

I married a man who was probably out there sitting by the pile putting his little cowboy boots on so he could walk back and get a snow cone. I think this is a real bonus for our kids. If they had two parents who were both the same, they would not get to see both sides of the fence.  All of our kids have a little bit of both of us in them. They are all competitive and they all like to win. But, Colton is the closest to how I was at that age and I am fascinated by his drive.

This morning, he had his final soccer try-out of the summer.  He played for this same Christian club last season and he enjoyed it very much. There are a lot of very talented boys out there all vying for a spot. Last year, they had a black team and a red team. We were new to the organization and did not understand how any of it really worked.  All we knew was that Colton wanted to play and he got some really good instruction. That's probably my favorite part of the whole thing. They have former college and pro players who actually teach the kids how, what, why and when to play. The footwork that some of these boys have is unbelievable. I just enjoy watching them play and I appreciate the talent that the coaches offer to the boys.  Last year, Colton played for the black team and enjoyed every minute of it. This year, the black team has a new coach and there are some top-notch players who have come from surrounding clubs who want to join. The competition is stiff. All that I tell Colton is to do his best, play hard, remember what he's learned and have fun.  At this age, it should be fun! I don't want him to feel tremendous pressure as there will be a life-time of try-outs and the pressure will only get more intense as he gets older and the competition gets greater.

Despite the fact that we got up early, had a good breakfast and got to the field prepared, it just wasn't his greatest day. I'm not sure why he was off, but Colton wasn't himself. It was hot and I wondered if the heat was affecting him. I wanted to drag him over for a quick, little pep talk, but I knew that he had to do this on his own. As I struggled to stand quietly, one of my favorite dad's was standing next to me, calming his wife's nerves about their son. I heard him tell her that it's in God's hands. That however the kids finished and were teamed up was not something any of the parents could control.  I liked his philosophy and he was right, I needed to let my son struggle with whatever it was he was struggling with. On his own.

As practice wrapped up, the coaches had their team huddle, prayer and brief parent meeting. Rosters would be posted within the week and we could check to see where each boy landed. Colton did what he always does, he went down and thanked each one of his coaches before we left. We didn't talk a lot on our way to the car, but as I attempted to encourage him for all that he did well, he burst out crying. He just sobbed and sobbed all the way to the car. When I sat down beside him to talk to him, all he could say was, "I did horrible, I did horrible. I was a statue out there and I'm not going to make the black team."  

My heart was broken for him. Although I recognized that it was not his best showing, I was surprised at how hard he was on himself. He's seven and it should be fun. He cried all the way home, something he has never done, and I decided we needed to change the subject. We stopped and got a Frappachino and talked about all the things we were enjoying this summer.  I told him how proud I was of him and how much I enjoyed being his mom. I don't care if he makes the black team or the red team, I just want him to always do his best and to always have fun.