Monday, May 05, 2008
I've been displaced by a cadre of painters who invaded my home for a much needed sprucing up. I'm happy to have them working to update the twenty year grunge from the hallway and dining room, but it means I have to give up my office during the day. I have moved my laptop to the family room, across from the 52"" shrine known as the plasma TV. The temptation to sneak a peak at daytime television proves too much, especially since we are on day four of what was suppose to be a two day project. I have now become intimately acquainted with Price is Right" shouting out prices and saying things like, "He's an idiot" when someone doesn't know the cost of a golfing lamp. I can tell anyone what Gold Bond Foot Powder sells for and that a bumper pool table costs more than a drum set. These are valuable life skills.
This proves that we can develop a rabid interest in anything, so long as we end up in the middle of it.
Case in point: soccer. Many soccer parents barely knew the rules when they signed their sons and daughters up for the sport. Now every Saturday and Sunday finds them on far-flung fields, cheering the team on and dedicating their bank accounts to paying for the privilege. Suddenly they can explain "off-side," know the teams remaining in the UEFA Cup, and can quote David Beckham's contract salary with the LA Galaxy (well probably even non-soccer fans can do that!). Even those who had a passing interest in soccer before their children started playing can find that interest both heightened and broadened. The other night we sat transfixed by a high school soccer game between two schools not even in our state. But, it was soccer and it was on the TV.
Being in the position of having so selective and intense an interest, I end up in danger of not being able to do even rudimentary socialization. The other day I met a mom whose son plays lacrosse. I told her my boys played soccer. We stared in panic at one another on the verge of avoiding eye contact and running away from one another. It was a bit like running into my gynecologist just an hour after an exam. What do you say in a situation like that? "Thanks for warming up the instruments?" Luckily we were at a school auction, so with some deft adjustments, we were able to shift gears from sports to fundraising. We talked about what we would bid on and whether or not the Goldendoodle puppy would really sell. We carefully avoided talking about sports since there would be too many awkward pauses.
Next week, hopefully, I will have my office back and I'll return to my schedule of writing every morning. I will probably go through some withdrawal from "The Price is Right" and find myself shouting out prices in the grocery store for a day or two. But eventually it will pass. The very fact that I have to move on got me thinking about what I am going to do when soccer doesn't occupy most of my waking hours. I am literally months away from not having to commute to Chicago three or four days a week. Robbie is a year away from going to college. He'll play soccer in college like his brother, but I don't have to be the attendant any longer. They will have coaches and captains who see to it that they get up at 6 a.m. and go to practices. They'll have handlers to arrange travel plans and get them to the fields for the games. They will have freshmen players to do their uniform laundry. All I will need to do is mesh each soccer schedule so I can get to a few games each season.
So what will I do with all those hours not dedicated to thinking about, planning for, participating in, and talking about soccer? I don't know. But it seems to me a bit like compounding the "empty nest" syndrome, which is a cruel punishment for all those years of dedication. As parents we'll all face this quandary later, if not sooner. Certainly parents have kids who come to them at some point and say, "I don't like soccer anymore." The structure of the months and years will need to be replaced by another structure. Yet, I don't really see it as tragic, though I'm sure it could be a very sad moment. The truth is everything in our lives is in its own way fleeting. My baby girls now have children. My three foot tall son is now 6'3"" and my catatonic son is the life of the party. Even my hallway is no longer crimson and green flowered wallpaper. I wish my car was more fleeting, but with nearly 190,000 miles I think I will be buried in it.
We spend our lives adjusting, going with the flow, discovering new interests, and giving up old dreams to pursue new ones. When I was at my grandson's game, I loved the sense of déjà vu in setting up my chairs on an abbreviated sideline and watching the "flies to honey" play of the kids. But I don't think soccer is my grandson's real sports calling. When I watched him at baseball practice right after his soccer game, I had to begrudgingly admit that the kid had an arm, which isn't the same advantage in soccer. He also seemed brighter, happier and more confident. So perhaps baseball will become my next sport's obsession. Then again, I have four other grandchildren who will find their own paths and love for me to cheer them on. I just hope they don't choose long distance swimming. That's one déjà vu I can do without.