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the girl

Hat Trick

Saturday 08 September 2012 | 0 Comments

When Pele was just over seventeen years old, he became the youngest player to achieve a hat trick — three goals in a match — in a World Cup match. In 1930, Guillermo Stabile scored a hat trick during his debut World Cup game.

What happens if you combine the two?

All I was hoping for was a successful first game, and I defined success simply enough: enough enjoyment to encourage the Girl to continue with her soccer adventure. Certainly, I wanted her team to win — winning always feels good. But more than that, I wanted the Girl to leave with an eagerness to return. And so among my great fears was the shut-out. “If L’s team doesn’t score a single goal, it might be frustrating to her,” I thought.

There were other concerns as well. L is not always the most aggressive person, especially in novel situations, and a first-time soccer game is about as novel as one can imagine.

Yet right from the start, the Girl is aggressive. Really aggressive. She charges the ball without concerning herself about the number of kids kicking wildly at the ball, and she often emerges from the pack with the ball.

And then she scores.

We’ve all seen the typical reactions among the pros — the wild celebrations, the leaping, the shirt front over the head. L seems completely oblivious to the significance of what has just happened. Countless games have finished one-nil, and the sole scorer is automatically the hero.

L, ignorant of all this, simply walks away from the goal calmly, a bit confused even. But my reaction and the coach’s reaction tell her something big has happened.

“It can’t be a more perfect first game,” I think. No matter what happens now, we have something to celebrate. Even if her team loses 5-1, we have that single moment to smile about. “Wasn’t that a great feeling to score?” I’ll be able to ask.

But the Girl has other things on her mind. She continues charging. She continues heading straight for the goal. She continues shooting.

And she misses. Once. Twice. And then more lightning: another goal.

And then a third. A hat trick, on her first time out. As she walks away from the goal the third time, her teammates celebrating, a small smile appears on her face. She knows what she’s done. She’s gotten a taste of athletic greatness. And she likes it.

Not content with having scored the only goals for either team, she proclaims with calm assurance as we walk back to the car, “Next game, I’m going to score five goals.”

Watch out Messi, here comes the Girl.

Flying and Dancing

Monday 03 September 2012 | 0 Comments

They’re not sisters, but they often act like they are, and occasionally they look like it, as well.

Of the three of them, L and T are certainly the most similar. Full of energy, always on the move, ever chattering, constantly seeking some kind of little bit of excitement.

L is a little weary to try something new until she sees someone else do it — like leaping from someone’s shoulders as they explode (as much as my tired legs can make them explode)Â from the water. She leaps prematurely at first.

Then, after watching T do it a few more times, she gets the hang of it. Timing the jump is critical, and she flies into the air so high that I suddenly worry that perhaps it’s too high. Sure enough, it’s a touch too high once, and she lands on her belly — her first belly flop, and she comes up howling.

Soon enough, though, it’s all giggles and laughs again.

And as suddenly as it started, it stops, as a heavy, sudden shower chases from the pool. But why? There’s no thunder, no threat. The youngest girls, realizing this, understand the implication.

“We can play in the rain!”

Why not? They’ll learn to see the rain as inconvenient soon enough.

A Nearly-Perfect Saturday

Saturday 01 September 2012 | 0 Comments

The Boy was merciful to us -- kind, even -- this morning, willing to trade another hour's or so sleep for a spot in our bed. L, too, enjoyed a pleasantly late morning, so the sun was bright by the time I was grinding coffee and K giving the Boy his breakfast.

With a start like that, what else is left to do to make the perfect morning but go for a walk. The Girl picked out a dress -- always a dress -- and the three of us took off, leaving K behind to have some ever-rare alone time. "She'll probably just spend it doing chores," I thought as we strolled down the driveway and onto our quiet street, but then I recalled how some chores give K a certain domestic peace. It must be the Polish blood.

Our route took us by the once-proud, neglected home in our neighborhood that once set itself as the envy of all. The brick work around the place alone cost a fortune, and the addition brought the square footage probably over 4k mark. Now its brick privacy walls, overgrown with everything imaginable, are crumbling and yellow "Condemned" stickers decorate the doors like sad wreaths.

I walk by this house often. It gives me a bit of comfort. Something of a nemesis, something of an inspiration, something of a warning, it teaches me to be content with what I have by reminding me that more stuff only amounts eventually to moreÂ dilapidation.

Today, however, it just reminded me of the amount of yard work that awaited me at home. As fall approaches and the sun lowers, the yard work always becomes more pleasant. There's a different feel to the air, even if the temperature reaches the low 90s like today.

After I'd mowed, trimmed, carted, raked, and disposed, there was only one logical conclusion to the day: the pool.

With Nana and Papa looking after the Boy -- just try to tell them that's work -- the three of us flopped about in the pool.

Sometimes more deeply than I would have ever expected from our once-terrified-to-get-her-face-wet daughter.

The Letter

Friday 31 August 2012 | 2 Comments

It's been a little tough for the Girl to begin school. Going from the small environment and relative freedom of Montessori to the highly organized reality of public school kindergarten would have been enough, but the color-coded "positive behavior incentive program" has added an entirely new stress. All students begin on green, it was explained to us during orientation, and students update their color as their behavior changes. Blue and purple indicate great and superior behavior; yellow and red indicate problematic and bad behavior. "Finishing on green or higher is considered a successful day," said the principal.

L's goal from the beginning: straight purple. Her first day, she came home with purple; her second day, blue. A few days later, the unthinkable: green.

"I hate those colors," K admitted shortly afterward. "Why do they even need that system?"

I understand the reasoning, though. Public school lumps together children from a variety of backgrounds, with parents who have more or less effective parenting skills. In short, there arrive at kindergarten children who aren't very well behaved. They must learn the social skills necessary to make it through school successfully, and such a system is an attempt to foster a certain (edu-speak alert!) behavioral metacognition.

But for children who already have those skills? And for children like the Girl, who already have those skills plus a healthy dose of OCD perfectionism? It's stress.

And then the email arrives from L's teacher, Ms. B:

Good Afternoon! I just wanted to take a moment and let you know what a joy L is to have in class. She has such a sweet personality and is so much fun to teach. I can't wait to get to know her better and let her show me how smart she is. Thank you for sharing her with me.

Thank you, Ms. B.

Stereo

Thursday 30 August 2012 | 0 Comments

The Girl was heading up to bed. Teeth were brushed, hair combed. But one thing remained.

"I'm going to bed," she said.

"Oh, no, no, no! Not until you..." came the stereo response.

Practice

Sunday 26 August 2012 | 1 Comment

I learned to appreciate soccer sitting with friends at this or that bar in Lipnica Wielka or sitting with my in-laws, watching club play as well as Euro Cup and World Cup tournaments. It’s a deceptive game for the uninitiated, and since I’d never played or even really watched the game, I had no idea about much of it.

And so when it comes time to start helping the Girl with her new soccer skills, I have to rely on the basics, things I’ve inferred from watching but never actually been taught — like kicking with the inside-top of the foot for better control.

It soon becomes clear, though, that the Girl either kicks the ball with the side of her foot or the front of her foot — perhaps too much too quickly.

Other skills are simpler, like stopping the ball.

In the end, though, we deduce that the best option is simply to encourage the enjoyment of the game, The finer points will come later.

On the Field

Saturday 25 August 2012 | 0 Comments

It's perhaps a cliche of parenting, the desire to give more to your children than you had as a child. Unfortunately, it seems our culture equates that "more" materialistically more often than not, but the question of experience seems more important. And to that end, we have to step out of our usual circle and involve others -- for instance, ten others, to make a soccer team.

Providing the Girl with the opportunity to kick a ball back and forth is easy enough: we've done it in the backyard a time or two. Attention spans, though, tend to be short in such activities. There's always a cat to chase, a trampoline to pull out of the basement, or something else -- squirrel! Somehow, though, things change when kicking the ball in a controlled environment with virtual strangers. Perhaps it's a desire to create a positive impression; maybe it's the drive to conform and kick along with the others. Whatever the case, the Girl's first experience with soccer provided her first and foremost with a concentrated dose of semi-organized sport.

Still, kicking and even throwing a soccer ball, even in concentrated doses, only provides so much, and it's all physical.

There's more to sport than the physical. In fact, the physical, at a certain level of competition, is only incidental. World-class athletes have practiced so much that the maneuvering and contorting involved in a given sport is almost a matter of muscle memory. Watch a gymnast doing a routine on theÂ pommel horse and it's hard to imagine he's thinking through every single move, every single flex of the muscle. By that time, the game is mental. He knows he can do his routine perfectly: he's done it flawlessly in practice countless times. It's now a question of doing it when there's something -- everything -- at stake. It's now a question of confidence and mental strength.

A gymnast can't really take his pommel horse skills into the business world and do much with them. He can, however, take his self-confidence and his ability to perform well under stress into non-sporting life and achieve just about anything he wants. So it's not so much the physical I'm worried about as I watch the Girl run about the soccer field.

I'm grateful, of course, for the improvement in coordination and strength such an activity brings, but more important is the mental development.

I'm more pleased when she calmly chases down a ball that's gotten out of her control, maintaining her cool the whole time, than I am when it becomes clear that she's one of the fastest kids on the field.

I'm more pleased when I see her calmly go get a ball that a teammate has kicked away from her out of childish spite

than I am when I see a good, strong kick.

But I'd be lying to deny that the kick makes me feel good, too.

First Day 2012

Wednesday 22 August 2012 | 1 Comment

Who knows how many times I’ve done it. If I had to count, I probably could count how many “first days” at school I’ve experienced. With time on both sides of the desk, I suppose I’d have to be now nearing thirty first days.

But I still remember my first first day. Some degree of nervousness, some level of excitement, some small amount of disappointment mixed with a great deal of joy.

I would like to think the Girl will remember her first first day. That she will remember how the night before her worries and fears melted in the morning to a smile and a paradoxically calm excitement.

That she will remember her idea to have a desert picnic after dinner. That she will recall her planning and packing for the picnic.

That she will linger over the memory of cuddling up to her mother, snuggling with her baby brother.

And that she’ll think of that first day every time she sees an ice cream truck.

Face Off

Sunday 19 August 2012 | 0 Comments

The Girl loves our cat, Bida. Loves. Too much. It borders on obsessive, and she traditionally has shown it in ways that are far from gentle. This probably explains why the Bida loves the basement hideaway we set up for her.

It also might explain her trepidation with our newest family member.

Fortunately for her, there’s really only one thing he wants to do.

Orientation

Tuesday 14 August 2012 | 1 Comment

Exactly eight years ago today, to the minute, K and I were in the midst of our wedding party. One might suggest that I’ve made a mistake. “It’s six hours later in Poland,” one might protest. “That would make it almost five in the morning there.” Obviously, such a protester has never been to a Polish wedding.

At five in the morning, we were still going — perhaps not going strong, and certainly not all of the guests still with us, but going all the same.

Eight years later, we’re still going, but there’s four now, which makes the going a bit more ponderous at times. Yet we still share the same future- and present-orientation that brought us together in the first place: family.