I know, I know, I know I shouldn't be disappointed. He's only 19 months for goodness sake. Lori signed Ben up for Soccer Bug practice/lessons and I, of course, was estatic. I got him a full kit (shirt, pants, socks) and grandma got him a Beckham shirt and pants kit too. We were set. We were going to school those other toddlers. Look out soccer world here comes the next Fredie Adu. I was already looking forward to the offers from Man U or Chelsea.
Instead, during the first practice, my son decided that he'd rather tackle the goal. When I say tackle, I mean full on run into the goal and grab the net...then proceed to hang on so tight and swing it around...I guess that's one way to mind the net. So, a little mortified, I run to extract Ben from the goal, who looks more like a crab caught in a crab pot, than any sort of soccer player. I run over and pick up my son who, in the mean time, must have sprayed super glue to his hands. I say this because no matter what I do to get him to let go he seems to hold on tighter and tighter. Ben, Dad, and a few balls all are now caught up in the mess as I try to swing the goal away - which turns into a big game as Ben is laughing his head off. I apologize to Coach Luis and thus ends practice one.
Oh, by the way, my wife Lori was of no help as she was balled up on the field laughing so hard that she said "I think I peed my pants."
Which brings me to practice number two:
We started off OK. Just Dad and Ben this time. We warm up and actually run and kick the ball. Then its time to go to the circle and pop bubbles (not sure what that connection is to soccer but Ben's engaged). He's doing fine until the popping bubbles turned with a finger turns into high-fiving/smacking bubbles and any other unfortunate toddler who might be in the way.
Then we moved onto doing the "airplane" (foot on ball with arms spread wide). We like this so Dad's starting to feel proud. All of a sudden - when it comes time to start kicking - Ben decides...nope this is not for me. There was a lot of "nooo" and "Limp Bens." If you're not familiar with the "Limp Ben" move let me describe it to you. When Ben doesn't want to do something he somehow convinces his body to go to Jello. All of his muscles and bones seem to disappear and he falls to the floor in a jiggly representation of, what was once, my active son. And, when I try to pick him up, he sort of looks like a cross between a rubber band and one of those crazy inflated dancing signs that you would see outside of a store - arms and legs going all sorts of akimbo. Thus ends day two...and soccer practice...at least for now.
Is it too early for basketball?