Kid Amnesiac

Good grief was Saturday’s soccer game ugly. Our outdoor season with Highland Youth Recreation League got off to a smashing start the Saturday before last. Our team had five really solid players, one player who is new to the formal game but has some definite moves, one player who is afraid of the ball and doesn’t want to play much, one player with attention issues who wanders out of the game (mentally or physically, sometimes both) and doesn’t want to play much, and one player with Asperger’s who struggles to understand the game and doesn’t want to play much. And one player who quit the team before the first practice.

Still, in division 2 (6-7-year-olds), five solid players will set you up for a good, competitive game. Unfortunately, this Saturday’s game saw the two absolute best players gone for birthday parties and another top player, Simon, running at about 60% due to fatigue. He’s had trouble with allergies and growing pains this week, and his sleep has suffered. So there we were, fielding a team with 3 1/2 players who wanted to play and understood the game, one player jumping away from the ball whenever it got anywhere near her (including when she played goalie–disaster!), one player who seemed confused and quit playing, and one player we could barely get on the field at all and who tried to take the ball from his own team-mates when he did play.

Those were the longest  40 minutes of my life. I think the score was around 12-0; it might have been worse. The other team started taunting ours on the field, singing out the score. Simon was in tears from humiliation and fatigue. And at the end, when the teams lined up for handshakes and “good games”, at least one little brat on the other side (not even one of their good players, might I add) called out “bad game, bad game” as he passed our demoralized crew.

At which point I blew:

“Hey! You do NOT talk like that! That is NOT nice. That is NOT good sportsmanship. That is NOT the HYR way. Do you understand me?”

Except that was really in ALL CAPS because I was angry and loud, upset with how the game went and with my adrenaline levels high. Someone was going to pay for this on-field massacre, and the little creep who dared to taunt made for a fine target.*

I’ve already been warned that the same two players are likely to miss one to two more games this season, which could very easily set us up for a repeat.

Then there is poor Simon. Poor, sensitive, competitive Simon. He saw the writing on the wall early and did not want to stay in the game. He was legitimately tired, so I let him come out for a quarter. But as players increasingly abandoned the field, we needed him. So, for the first time ever, I told him he had to get in there and play no matter what. No matter how tired. No matter the side stitch. No matter the humiliation.

“Listen, honey. No one likes getting beaten like this. I’m not having a good time, either. But we’re on this team, and we can’t let the other kids down by not trying our best. You know how Mr. Cowan (the Assistant Principal) at Brandeis always says the Brandeis way is to try hard and do your best? Well, that’s what you have to do. Even if you can’t run much. Even if you don’t feel good. We’re going to lose, and you aren’t at 100%. I know that. But you have to get in there and play right now, even if you play on your hands and knees. So get in there.”

And he did. And things were marginally OK until the taunting began, at which point he broke down in tears and wanted off the field.

Did I mention how long this game seemed?

We’ve got five games left, and I’m hoping they won’t all be this miserable. Actually, what I’m really hoping for is a rain-out or two. The spirit of HYR is that everyone plays equal time regardless of ability, that we don’t keep score, and that we make the game a positive atmosphere for players, parents coaches, and refs. Between scheduled absences, lack of interest, and developmental challenges, that’s not looking real likely for this team this season. Or more accurately, I haven’t figured out how to make it a positive experience for kids on both ends of the ability scale.

Simon wants to play with kids who are good and improve his skills. He’s the happiest playing with kids who are better than him—kids he can look up to and learn from. He’s working on an offensive spin-move (internally referred to as “Giles Barnes leaves the Sunderland defense in a twist”, an apparent 500 Greatest Goals reference) for crying out loud and tries to space the field, but Saturday no one would pass to him or get into position to be passed to. I think I can spin this as Simon having a chance to mentor younger and/or more inexperienced players, but if they aren’t interested or can’t/won’t listen, that doesn’t really work.

Matt tells me that I’ve let one horrible game get to me. That we’ll have our two best players back for most of the games, that Simon will feel better, and that we’ll have an OK time. I remain to be convinced. In fact, our practices and this last game were bad enough that I’m left wondering if an open-to-all, non-competitive soccer league is the right place for us.

—–

* I’m increasingly losing my temper with mean kids at preschool, too. Two months ago, when a kid said or did something hateful I’d respond with, “Now, X, let’s not talk like that” or “We’re all friends in here; let’s get to Spanish.” But now? Now I go straight to “What was that you just said? Listen here, X, one more word out of your mouth like that and you are out of here and in Ms. Shary’s office. Do you understand me?”

A week or so ago, Simon really surprised me by displaying a rock-solid sense of self I didn’t know he had.

It all started with a friendship heading south. Early in the year, Simon befriended two boys, X and Y. X and Y were quick to become friends with each other, and Simon had to nose his way in. For a while, this triangle friendship worked surprisingly well. Then, as I predicted from the outset, things took a bad turn. X and Y remained great friends, and Simon continued to adore X, but things between Simon and Y weren’t going so well.

Simon started telling me about Y being mean to him and laughing at him. At first, I downplayed it as a tiff, not wanting to feed what can sometimes be Simon’s hypersensitivity or misinterpretation of intent. I especially downplayed reports of Y laughing at Simon, because Simon cannot differentiate between being laughed with and laughed at. Still, the reports didn’t stop. “Y won’t share the ball with me,” he’d complain. Or, “I don’t like the way Y plays.” And to tell the truth, I saw Y do a few things I wasn’t crazy about myself, much of which I attributed to Y’s being younger than Simon.

Things continued in this vein—with Simon complaining and me deflecting or downplaying—until last week when Simon laid it on the line for me.

“Do not say Y is one of my friends. X is, but Y isn’t. He’s mean to me.”

“Oh, honey. Don’t you think he’s just younger than you and plays in different ways? Are you really not friends any more? And what about X?”

“I’m friends with X. And X and Y still like each other. I don’t’ know if Y decided he didn’t like me or what. But he’s not nice to me, and he’s not my friend. Like today, he grabbed a ball and wouldn’t share it. He wasn’t playing with it, but he wouldn’t let me play with it. I said ‘I don’t’ like it when you do that’ and he just laughed at me.”

By now I’m wincing, even as I’m admiring Simon’s even tone in relating something that sounds painful. “So what did you do?”

“Oh, this other boy named Z came over. He’s in Ms. Rhoda’s class [another kindergarten class]. He said ‘Hey Simon, I’ve got a ball. Come play with me. I think Z is one of the nicest boys in kindergarten.”

That floored me, and I still don’t know how this will play out given that Simon adores X and that X and Y remain great friends. I think Simon might end up the odd guy out. But what I have learned from this is that Simon has limits on what kind of treatment he will accept from others, and that he’s not so eager to please that he will put up with unkindness. My oldest brother and I both swallowed any hurt to ensure that everyone still liked us. [Not Perry. You crossed him or–worse–me or Steve, and he cut you dead. Full stop. Perry wanted to please himself and those he deemed worthy of pleasing. The rest of the world could go stuff it.] Young Matt, too, would have been confused and hurt if a friend shut him out.

So I’m loving this glimpse into hidden reserves of strength. Simon obviously has a strong sense of self. I’m also loving the forced broadening of his social circle. This past week, he’s mentioned playing basketball with a boy I’d never heard of from the third kindergarten class, and he’s begun hanging out with other boys in his class, too. Throw in some soccer and old preschool friendships, and I think I can keep his circle robust enough to support his desire for the right kind of friendships.

Obviously, the answer is because his parents are mean. Or crazy. Or both. At least, I suspect it looks a bit like this.

The real reason is that we think Simon wants to quit for the wrong reasons, and we’re not going to let him until or unless we’re all miserable for another month or two. Simon really likes drumming. We started with the lessons in the first place because it was something he liked playing at. And at the beginning, it was great. His very kind teacher Mr. Shirley would show him something, and Simon would do it. Then he’s show him something new, and Simon would do that, too. It was eeeeeeaaaaasy.

Then it got trickier, and Simon couldn’t replicate everything the first time he tried. He had to actually, you know, try a few (or a bunch of) times before mastering a new beat. But while Frank proudly sang “Mistakes, I’ve made a few…” and seemed not at all bothered by it, Simon equates mistakes with failure and embarrassment. Which means the first time he’d be introduced to a new rhythm or beat, he’d either freeze from panic and say “I can’t do that” or collapse into snotty sobs if he didn’t succeed on the first try. Sometimes he’d do both.

You cannot imagine the number of lectures Matt and I have given on the importance of mistakes. How if you aren’t making mistakes, you aren’t trying. How if you are learning something new, it’s not even a mistake yet!  How if he’s not making mistakes, then Mr. Shirley has nothing to do. We’ve told him all of that. Over, and over, and over again.We even had Simon teach me for a while, so he could see an adult make a mistake and move on.

Sometimes we’d pull it off. Other times Simon would develop mysterious stomach ailments right before drum classes that magically disappeared if we canceled. Matt and I were honestly ready to throw in the towel about two weeks ago for all the reasons you are no doubt thinking to yourself right now. “He’s only six. This is supposed to be fun. If it’s making him sick, stop and try again later.” Yup we thought all those things, too.

Then a funny thing happened on the way to cancellation. Simon started drumming with his hands all the time. On the dining room table, on the couch, at a restaurant, everywhere. He’d listen for beats in music and drum along in the car. It became increasingly clear to me that Simon liked drumming, just not drumming lessons. Or more specifically, just not the part in drumming lessons where he might make a mistake.

We may yet have to take a break because of this perfectionism, but we were not going to let a child who enjoys drumming stop taking drum lessons without a fight. Not with a child for whom perfectionism is a problem, and not with a child for whom frustration when things get difficult is a challenge. And especially not after last week’s parent-teacher conference, when Mr. Sowder suggested I not let Simon give up when the going gets hard. He needs to learn to cope with mistakes and persevere when things get hard. And if he can start working on these challenges now, he’ll be that much further along when the stakes get higher down the road.

Happily, last week’s lesson was terrific. Matt tipped off the teacher, and he took a different approach to the lesson. Simon got to pick some beats of his own choosing, he played almost exclusively on the kit instead of on practice pads, and together he and the teacher came up with sentences or words to match specific beats. I’m hoping that this week’s lesson is going much the same. If it is, Mr. Sowder will thanking me next week. And Simon? Well, he can thank me in about 14 years when he understands why his dad and I pushed him so.