It's football season

A couple weeks ago, Mark tried out for the school flag football team. I was super proud of him, partly because he made the team, but also because he tried out last year and didn't make it.

"I'm most proud that you tried again this year," I told him. "Some kids might be mad they didn't make it and give up. But you kept trying and you made it. I'm very proud of you for that."

Yesterday was the first game of the season. I don't know who was more nervous about it, Mark or me.

We both played it cool at home. But as I slipped into the stands at starting time, I was nervous for him.

The game started when a whistle blew and the two teams charged toward each other full-speed. Mark told me the school league was tougher than the league he played in last spring, and he was right.

I watched the kids run, their mouth guard strings flapping around. It cracked me up. The plastic piece looks like a stick hanging out front. It allows the boys to easily pull the guards out between plays, but during the game, it looked like the kids were eating lollipops during the game.

The day before, I'd asked Mark what position he was playing, and he said, "Probably bench."

"No way," I said. "You're quick--I'm sure you'll get some field time."

But I was wrong. Mark stood at the sidelines for most of the game, jittery, constantly moving up and down the sidelines as the ball and players moved. He tossed a football around, continuously checking his cleats and flags. He also spent a lot of time obsessively removing and replacing his mouth guard. I think the mouth guard saw more action during the game than Mark did.

Mark was a trouper, though. He yelled encouragement to his team on the field. He stood at the coach's side, asking questions. He tossed footballs to the referees, and water bottles to his sweaty teammates running off the field. But my heart broke with each minute that passed as he stood on the sidelines.

Finally, he got his chance. Coach gave him the signal, and Mark ran on field during the kickoff. He hunched down seriously, completely concentrating, and took off like a shot when the play started. 

The play was over quickly, and Mark returned to sidelines. I silently cursed the coach, because I knew this game meant a lot to Mark.

Mark got to run another play during the game. I took a few pictures, but mostly I spent the time half-heartedly rooting for the team and trying not to obsess that Mark barely played. I didn't want to be that obnoxious yelly sports parent, and I didn't want to embarrass Mark. I just wanted to watch him play, see him run, and cheer him on. I wanted to be happy watching him be happy.

It wasn't to be. Mark was excited his team won, but disappointed he didn't contribute much to the victory.

I was disappointed, too, because I knew how much this meant to him. But I swallowed my own feelings--this wasn't about me.

"I know you wanted to play more," I told him. "It's just the first game. There are more chances--you keep going to practice, work hard, and be ready to go in when they need you. It's easier to pout and slack in practice because you didn't get to play in the game anyway, but Coach won't like that attitude. He's not gonna put in a bitter kid--he's gonna play someone who works hard all the time and never gives up."

Mark wasn't convinced. "I guess," he said glumly.

"I know it," I said. "You were great out there. I love how you cheered on your team, how you told them to watch out for players who weren't covered. You were really positive, and it helped the team."

"I talked to Coach, too," he said. "I told him which plays to run a couple times."

"See?" I said. "That helps! Maybe you weren't on the field the whole time, but you were definitely helping the team."

And with that, he smiled and hit the showers. I smiled, too, and then bit my lip. I wanted to scream with Mark how unfair it was he didn't get to play, but I knew that wouldn't help him. It wouldn't help for two of us to be angry and bitter. I couldn't poison what had so far been lots of fun for him.

He's learning about sportsmanship, I thought. About being a good sport, which really is the whole point of playing football. 

If I want Mark to be a good sport, I have to teach by example. I have to be positive and uplifting, even though what I really want to do is scream "It's not fair!!!" at the coach.

I forget that sometimes lessons aren't just just for kids--sometimes they're for the parents, too. And this, definitely, was one of those times.