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Heading Home

Sunday 24 June 2018

After two consecutive losses that left them at the bottom of their four-team World Cup group, the Polish team is heading home after their third and final game later this week. Even if they win against Japan, they won’t have enough points to move on to the next round of sixteen teams.

But we didn’t know that when a group of Poles and sympathizers gathered to watch Poland play Columbia this afternoon.

There was optimism from the beginning, but I told K on the way there, “You know Columbia is going to win, right?”

Why? Poland had played so pathetically against Senegal that I felt they were broken psychologically. Senegal was supposed to be the push-over team in their group. They were supposed to be the ones everyone trampled on like they’re a bunch of amateurs. And then on Tuesday, the Poles scored an own-goal and let the Senegalese take an embarrassingly easy second goal due entirely to a ridiculous error from the Polish goalie to end 2-1.

I had that feeling, and truth be told, K did too. Everyone in the room except for the three Columbians in the room probably had that feeling as well. Of course, they might well have felt that way, too.

All the Poles sang “Mazurek Dąbrowskiego,” the Polish national anthem.

Poland has not yet perished,
So long as we still live.
What the foreign force has taken from us,
We shall with sabre retrieve.
March, march, Dąbrowski,
From the Italian land to Poland.
Under your command
We shall rejoin the nation.
We’ll cross the Vistula, we’ll cross the Warta,
We shall be Polish.
Bonaparte has given us the example
Of how we should prevail.

The Columbians sang their national anthem:

Oh, unwithering glory!
Oh, immortal jubilance!
In furrows of pain,
goodness now germinates.

The dreadful night has ceased.
Sublime Liberty
beams forth the dawn
of her invincible light.
All of humanity
that groans within its chains,
understands the words
of He who died on the cross.

In both cases, I think they only got through about two verses: the anthem at the stadium was instrumental and short.

The good mood among the Poles didn’t last long. Just before the end of the first half, Yerry Mina scored for Columbia. Of course, there was still hope. Among Poles, there’s always hope. But it was waning: a tie would not do. Only a victory could save the Polish national team. Yet halfway through the second half, at the 70-minute mark, Radamel Falcao scored a second goal for Columba. And as if to rub a little dirt in the Poles’ faces, Juan Cuadrado scored again five minutes later.

And it was all over.

“I don’t see what the big deal is,” a friend said. “They’ll be another World Cup, another chance.” True enough.

Final Game

Thursday 21 June 2018

The Girl had her last volleyball game this evening. She's come a long way since she began some weeks ago. She couldn't even pass a volleyball; in games, she was somewhat intimidated by the ball. Her serve was non-existent. She was, in short, a complete beginner.

By the end of the season, she's got a decent underhand serve and is working on an overhand serve. She's starting to chase down balls rather than shy away from them. And she's still in love with the game, so next week, it's volleyball camp.

Sports and Ice Cream

Saturday 19 May 2018

The Girl had her first volleyball game today. It was as one might expect when the majority of the girls playing haven't had much experience on the court. Most volleys were one of three types:

  1. A serve that doesn't make it over the net or lands outside.
  2. A serve that plops in front of a player who, through a lack of experience and a bit of accompanying fear, made a slight effort to go for it.
  3. A serve that is returned and then plops in front of a player on the serving team, through a lack of experience and a bit of accompanying fear, made a slight effort to go for it.

Not a lot of action. But a lot of excitement: the girls were all thrilled when they managed to make a serve (which actually happened quite frequently); they were shouting encouragement and joy when they managed to return a serve; they encouraged each other when someone messed up.

It was a beautiful thing to watch.

While the Girl was playing, the Boy was having soccer practice on the other half of the court due to the unpredictability of the weather this week. He finished his hour-long practice drench in sweat and as eager as ever to play more soccer.

It was a beautiful thing to see.

The afternoon brought the Boy's birthday party. We had an old-school, kids playing in the yard party. There were water balloons, brownies, sprinker antics, chips, volleyball over the sprinker, soda, soccer in the sprinker's mist, ice cream cake, trampoline flights, pizza, and endless laughs.

It was a beautiful day to experience.

Trying

Tuesday 15 May 2018

A busy evening for the Girl. Cross country try-outs from 6:00 to 7:15, then volleyball practice from 7:15 (obviously we were a bit late) to 8:15. Two things — sports, no less — about which she has never shown any interest until the last few weeks and now is bound and determined to participate in.

We arrived ten minutes early, and since the Girl is a rising sixth grader and most of the other kids were already attending the middle school, she stood around and looked like she felt a little lost. Friends were bantering back and forth, and she just stood and watched them.

She missed yesterday’s portion of the try-out due to her final choir concert for her elementary school, so as everyone began repeating the stretching and warm-ups from yesterday, the Girl was left looking around to see how everyone else did it. At one point, to stretch the quads, the coach told the kids to put their right hands on the shoulder of the kid to their right to help with balance. She did so, but the girl to her left didn’t put her hand on L’s shoulder. When it came time to repeat on the left side, L hesitantly reached her hand out to the girl on the left, noticed she still wasn’t balancing herself on anyone and managed to stretch without support.

How well I remember those moments of uncertainty at that age. Always looking about to make sure I’m doing what everyone else is doing. Trying hard not to call attention to myself in any way at all. Truth be told, I still behave that way in new environments with new people, but such a subdued L is an uncommon sight. I felt I was getting a little peek into what her first day of school might be like when, in a few short months, she begins middle school.

When did that happen? When did our little girl become a 5’3″ young lady who no longer looks like a little girl? I knew it was coming, but somehow I’d convinced myself it wasn’t just around the bend.

The try-out itself was instructive, for me and for L. She completed two miles in 22 minutes. It’s probably the longest distance she’s run. I sat in the car, reading (I’ve decided it’s time to reread a book that I promised myself fifteen years ago when I first read it that I would — must — read again, Steinbeck’s East of Eden), and I was aware of kids running in the field in front of the car, so I stopped and watched, waiting for the Girl. I was actually doing a bit of both, so when I didn’t see her, I just thought she’d passed by when I’d looked back down to read for a moment or two. Then I heard the kids behind me, laughing, complaining, resting. I went back to reading when a flash of blue caught my eye: L ran by, alone, dead last.

“I had terrible cramps,” she explained later.

“But do you know how proud you can be of yourself for not stopping?” I asked. It’s a big thing: our princess is learning to finish what she started, no matter what.

We jumped into the car and drove the few miles to the Y, where she’s going to be playing volleyball for the first time.

Almost everyone on the team is a complete beginner, so the coaches have to explain everything. The rules. Rotation. How to pass, to set, to serve. How to move once the ball is in play. At one point, L and a few other girls were on the sideline.

“You have to listen as I’m explaining to the other girls,” one of the coaches explains. “If you’re talking, you’ll have to run laps.”

A few minutes later, I heard him call out, “You three, take a lap!” L and two other girls began jogging around the court. I caught his eye, smiled, and gave him a thumbs up, which he returned, laughing.

After practice, I mentioned that to L: “Good job taking that lap without fussing,” I said.

“I wasn’t actually talking,” she explained. “I was just looking at the girl who was talking.”

“Better still,” I said.

That girl is maturing, I tell you.

Nearly-Spring Sunday

Sunday 04 March 2018

Spring in the south is a tease: we'll have a week of theoretically unseasonably warm weather (mid-seventies or even a bit higher) and then drop back down to the forties and fifties for a week. I guess we all should get used to it, but we never really do. Every year, we have this warm spell and become convinced that this time -- this time -- it will be different. K gets out a few spring clothes, packs up a few of the winter clothes, and then the next week, we're all wondering why we were so naive.

That's what we had this week: cool, cool temperatures and even some rain after a week of warmth. So this weekend, with its sunny cool weather, has been a joy. We spent yesterday working outside; we spent this afternoon playing outside. Well, not entirely. I had to do some school planning and a bit of grading, and K was in the kitchen for a while.

Our hearts, at least, were outside when our bodies couldn't be. Just before heading to Nana's and Papa's for Sunday dinner, the Boy decided he wanted to play football. During our scout meeting today, someone brought up football, and though we never watch it at our house and therefore never discuss it and therefore never expose our children to it, the Boy has absorbed enough background knowledge at school that he's keen to play.

He asks if he can play on a team like the neighbor across the street. Thinking of the growing scientific certainty regarding the dangers to the brain the football presents, I tell him, "No, sorry buddy. There's just no way to make it safe."

"Well, little kids don't hit very hard," he tries to explain.

As a happy compromise, we toss the ball with him occasionally.

At scouts today, they played kickball, and because we don't expose our kids to baseball either, E had only the vaguest notion of how to play even when the den leader explained that it's just like baseball. K sometimes worries that by not exposing the kids to sports because we're not particularly interested in watching them (except for ski jumping -- that's a given when you're Kamil Stoch's first cousin), we're somehow short-changing our kids. They don't fit in with the other kids, and the other kids notice -- that's the logic.

Since I grew up not fitting in for various other reasons, I find myself thinking, "There are worse things than not fitting in." It's a survivable dilemma. What doesn't kill them makes the strong. Some such nonsense.

But even if we wanted -- really wanted -- to expose our kids to sports like football and baseball, we don't have the time for it. I'm always amazed at people in the area who go to every single Clemson game during football season, thinking, "Don't you guys have any obligations on Saturdays?" We're too busy in the fall working outside and inside (mainly my school work) to make football viewing a possibility, and baseball in the spring would be only slightly better.

So our kids go to school lacking certain knowledge to make conversation of a certain type possible. In reality it really doesn't affect L because she too is not interested in football (to continue using the example above). The Boy, though, is, and his friends talk about it from time to time.

Maybe as spring unfolds, we'll try to watch some baseball together, perhaps to watch the local minor league team play a time or two...

Sports

Wednesday 24 January 2018

Living in South Carolina means that one Wednesday we can be out sledding in the afternoon and the next Wednesday, playing soccer and trying out a new sport.

Stopping by the thrift store today for some thing or another, K let the Boy make some purchases of his own: a golf club. Why a golf club? I don't play golf; I don't watch golf; I don't talk or even think about golf. But there it is -- the Boy has a golf club and some balls now.

We headed out to the front yard for some initial swings.

"Let's get you going this direction," I said when I saw the neighbors' cars in their driveway just beside our lawn. The other neighbors' car was out, too, but the chances of him hitting that car, with the ground sloping upward and the additional barrier of our own driveway and second patch of ground, seemed significantly lower.

After dinner, soccer. He's going to be playing again this spring, and he's eager to get some practice -- so eager that we have to go through the whole routine he and his team went through, with warm-ups, some passing practice, and finally a game. We don't have a goal anymore, so it amounted to a game of keep-away -- good practice in and of itself.

Long Saturday

Saturday 16 September 2017

Saturdays these days start with soccer at 9:30. Today, it was tough to get him out the door. K had surprised him the night before with a bunch of Star Wars toys from my childhood that Nana and Papa had saved. He complained about his busy schedule, about his inability to have any time “just to relax.” He just wanted to have some time to rest and play with his new toys. And it grew to a fuss-fit. So I gave him a simple option: “You don’t have to go play soccer today. We can spend the time packing up all these Star Wars toys and taking them back downstairs.”

Needless to say, he was very willing to go after that.

Soccer was fairly typical: after a twenty-minute practice session, the kids played a game. And the Boy played as he usually does, drifting around the periphery, watching, not quite sure whether he wants to engage with the other players. That’s a fairly accurate description of many of the players, to be sure, but for me, knowing him as a parent, it’s a natural outgrowth of his personality.

It’s not something I’m really interested in trying to change. It’s part of his personality. While I think a little more assertiveness might be beneficial later in life, it’s not something I’m terribly worried about for a five year old.

Besides, there were certainly enough assertive players out there today, enough that E’s team won 4-1 (though one goal wasn’t counted, I believe). Again, I don’t care whether his team wins or loses — and E even less so — but I find it ironic that, given all that, his team is so far undefeated.

When we got home, though, the real fun began.

And in the evening, a rarity. The Boy wanted to play instead of reading — nothing really new there. What was surprising was that the Girl wanted to play.

“I thought you hated Star Wars,” I asked.

“I do. But the toys are great.”

So the three of us played for a little while.

“Daddy, is this a good guy or a bad guy?” was a common question. We didn’t really worry about it. Han Solo battled Luke and the Empire collapsed on itself in a grand civil war.

Games

Saturday 17 September 2016

The Boy was determined not to play soccer today. "I'm scared!" was the refrain. He didn't want to get dressed. He didn't want to leave the house. He didn't want to get in the car. He didn't want to get out of the car. But once he was on the field, it was all fine.

His play was better than last week. He ran toward the ball in general, but he often just sort of ran around the edge of the hive of boys and girls kicking madly at the ball, known as four-year-olds' soccer.

And at home, a bit of badminton.

Family Match

Wednesday 14 September 2016

If the Boy plays Saturday like he was playing today, he'll be something else. He was going after the ball no matter who had it, attacking toward the net, shooting -- everything. We even worked on passing the ball to him for him to shoot even though that's a guaranteed impossibility for his game Saturday.

But if I think back to the Girl playing soccer, I remember doing things like this and then discovering that none of it would really stick. "Perhaps more practice," I'd say, and yet it wouldn't stick. And so what if it doesn't? He's only four -- that's the cause of the "problem" and the reason it's not important.

First Game

Saturday 10 September 2016

The Boy is not an overly aggressive little fellow. He likes to play by the rules. At preschool, he got upset last year when other children took off their shoes because it was against fire code. I suppose the teacher mentioned that, and he just remembered it. So the idea of stealing the ball, of going into the herd of four-year-olds that chase the soccer ball around the field and do much of anything -- that's not his style.

Much of the time he was in, the poor fellow was frustrated. He'd insisted on wearing an undershirt, and in the heat of the morning, it had become terribly uncomfortable. Then there was the fact that he didn't quite even know what to do -- I'll take partial blame for that, as we really didn't do much more this week than practice taking the ball from each other in an effort to overcome the inevitable timidness that all four-year-olds face when playing soccer.

The real heartbreak occurred when, in an effort to defend, after he'd gotten his fortitude up and was engaging with the other players, he accidentally defended the ball right into his team's goal. I've mixed feelings about games with four-year-olds counting self-goals. On the one hand, it's the game. Learn the game at a young age. On the other hand, it was my son. Naturally, no one said anything, and I'm not even sure his own teammates realized what happened. And fortunately, a young man on E's team was a real master (for four-year-olds) and scored two goals to make the first game end in a tie.

After the game, though, everyone was tuckered out. Well, almost everyone.

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