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Parents Blog

Susan Boyd blogs on USYouthSoccer.org every Monday.  A dedicated mother and wife, Susan offers a truly unique perspective into the world of a "Soccer Mom". 

 

Out of the shadows

Susan Boyd

It's a topic most people don't discuss, or if they do, it's in hushed tones with some embarrassment. Every day finds parents having to go out in public with their children armed with little or no information but having to make one of the bigger decisions of their children's sports life. I'm talking about buying their children's first athletic cup or sports bra. Those of you who have already had to do it know how your visit to the store was couched in confusion and awkwardness. This is a purchase we parents may have only made once for ourselves because not so long ago the choices were simple and timeless. I know my husband still uses the jock strap he bought in college and I still have that running bra from the 80s in my drawer. They do the job. But now the permutations of what you can purchase have exploded. So what can we expect when we stride through the electronic doors of the emporium? What manual exists to help us not only to discuss this purchase with our children, but to guide them to the right product?

We certainly can't rely on the staff to help. We are inevitably greeted by an 18-year-old who still giggles when hearing anyone talk about the planet Uranus. So why would we expect him or her to be able to deal with an intimate sports purchase with any kind of delicacy. We also can't be assured of a salesperson being the same gender as our child, which adds to everyone's discomfort. And worse we quickly discover that given all the options available for cups and bras asking a clerk what would be appropriate for your pre-teen daughter or son would be akin to asking that same clerk to suggest an investment strategy to weather the fluctuations of international currencies. We'd be better off using the proverbial blind stab.

Let's start with sports bras. Girls are acutely aware that their bras will be seen whether or not they choose to rip off their jersey following a successful PK ala Brandi Chastain. If they play for a club that has a white jersey as part of their kit, then they know how see-through that jersey can be with a rainy day or lots of sweat augmenting the visibility. Sports bras can run the gamut from utilitarian to fashionable to inappropriate. But if I had to categorize the level of importance for your daughter it would be fashionableness, inappropriateness, and then utility. Selecting the right bra won't just be about size or support, which on their own can be daunting given that bras can be stretchy, see-through, supportive, one piece, clasp, or built-in to a shirt. Oh no, you will need to carefully consider how the bra looks. Therefore you may end up purchasing two or three different bras depending on how much of them will be seen and how well they color coordinate with the uniform. And forget about one size fits all or small, medium, and large. Sports bra sizes are now as varied as regular bra sizes. How to pick the size correctly becomes its own dilemma not easily resolved if no dressing rooms are available. It's not unreasonable to expect that you'll be buying three times the number of bras your daughter will need and then returning most of them after a private fitting at home.

But at least sports bras are returnable. This is not the case with cups and jock straps. So getting the right one can involve buying and discarding several incorrect ones. Now it's true that most boys don't use this equipment for soccer, but it's also true that most boys don't play just soccer. So I know I am writing this for most of you. There was a time when these items came in two sizes: youth and adult.   They came in hard plastic cases and hung on metal hooks on the edge of shelves holding baseballs, gloves, and orange cones. You didn't even need to have your kid with you. But now the choices are endless, difficult, and occupy their own aisle. There are boxer shorts with cups sewn in them, there are actual sizes such as small, medium, and large which begs the question do you buy the right size or do you buy the size that doesn't make your son feel inadequate, and there are colors. The jock strap of the past 100 years no longer carries any standing with the athletes of today. You have to have some space age fabric designed with some ergonomic fitting that is endorsed by some superstar. So now the products are so specialized that they only work for select groups of players. My grandson can't find a comfortable cup to save his life. I think he has an entire dresser dedicated to the discarded options he selected over the past year. They end up being too small, too large, too tight, too loose, too squishy, too hard, too awkward, and too wedgy. The hunt goes on every time his family goes to a sporting goods store. The crusaders had more success in locating the Holy Grail than my grandson has finding a cup that doesn't preoccupy him graphically when wearing it.

Read up on the products out there because I can guarantee that there will be as much social acceptance based on the cup or bra you purchase as in the cell phone you use. I would never have thought that the most intimate of sports apparel would now have a "cool" factor that requires careful research and acquisition. Leave it to the trend setters to have found the one area of my life where I thought I could remain on equal footing with the Joneses and turn it into another battleground for elitism. I encourage us parents to remove the silence that surrounds this topic and begin to talk parent to parent about what's out there, because it is scary what the stores offer. We thought we could handle this discretely like head lice, but those days are gone. We must begin to speak out to one another or we risk making ill-informed and disastrous choices that could actually impact our children's self-images. Good luck…you'll need it.
 

Work it out

Susan Boyd

I can clearly measure my level of fitness by how willing I am to tolerate a parking spot on the fringes of the tournament lot.   When I see that I have to walk six soccer fields lengthwise to get to my kids' game there's that moment where I weigh motherly devotion against back cramps. The kids so far have always won, but it does beg the question: at which distance will they lose out?   That's the thing about youth sports. It promotes good fitness for our kids, while we parents end up driving long hours in the car, sitting on the sidelines, and joining our kids in fast food meals on the fly without the benefit of a practice or a game at the end. The most exercise I'll get is bending over backwards, running around in circles, and taking leaps of faith.  

I'd love to see soccer clubs engage parents more in the fitness side of the sport. Sure, I should be self-motivated and take the time before a game to walk the perimeter of the field for thirty minutes. But I'm so grateful for a few minutes of time to sit and work on a crossword puzzle that I don't make myself do what would be healthier. Additionally, there's any number of parents who are new to soccer and don't yet appreciate how difficult it is to kick a ball with accuracy to a teammate or into what does appear to be a huge goal mouth. So I'm thinking there's a way to promote both fitness and understanding by sponsoring parent soccer clinics, hopefully weekly.

While our kids are practicing, we parents could gather to do our own sessions. We'd start with warm up exercises, switch to some soccer drills, advance to some Small-Side scrimmages, and finish with a cool down. Coaches often complain because they hate parents watching during the practice. The coaches want the freedom to conduct practices without feeling that the parents are judging the activities. By conducting a parent session each week, clubs could insure two things: parents won't hang around every practice and parents would begin to appreciate the techniques, difficulties, and beauty of the game by experiencing it firsthand. 

Inevitably there would be that mom or dad who ran track in college and goes to spin class three days a week who could make the rest of us look silly, but at least we could look silly in a pack rather than by ourselves in the gym. Looking foolish might actually be motivation because any embarrassment I would cause my children would simply be payback for all the grey hairs they've given me. Plus we parents could cooperatively encourage one another while learning to be more tolerant of our kids' play. We'd discover how hard it is to dribble a ball with the outside of your foot when you're running and someone is trying to steal it from you. And once a parent strikes a ball with what she/he believes is elegance but is actually wild abandon, that parent will understand the chagrin of watching the ball fly yards over the goal. The next time Eddie or Maggie makes the same mistake on the field, mom and dad won't be so critical.

Youth sports should be an opportunity for kids to develop some new skills, make friends, and increase their fitness. For the money we spend giving our kids these opportunities there's no reason we should miss out on the same benefits. Now I don't look good in shorts – as Erma Bombeck stated "according to my girth I should be a 90 foot redwood" – but I can run, kick, and look clumsy doing it with the best of them. And I'd love the chance to share in the fitness, friends, and fun my kids are getting. There's a whole different dynamic in making friends while being knocked on your rear instead of politely sipping tea in a red velvet chair. Get out there and ask your club to run clinics once a week or even once a month which would get us moms and dads involved physically and mentally in the sport. You'll gain a whole new perspective while sprawled on the pitch.
           
 

All You Need Are Friends - John Lennon

Susan Boyd

Everyone who got into soccer because their child's friend was in soccer raise your hand. I see you out there. You're the parents who didn't know much about soccer, maybe even hated soccer, but found yourself pulled in by peer pressure. When a youth sport grows as quickly as soccer has, that's the usual story. I'm sure there are lacrosse, rugby, and cricket parents with similar stories. But I'm grateful to that mom who insisted that Robbie's group of friends make up his first soccer team. We were totally clueless to the soccer process in our town and we probably would have opted for baseball and basketball had her son not insisted that he play soccer with all his friends. So we stapled our eight applications together, collared Bruce into coaching, and made a team of friends.  

Parents need to recognize the role that friendships play in the decisions our kids make growing up. Sometimes the decisions frustrate us. Our oldest daughter was an accomplished dancer who was accepted into a resident performing arts program when she was fourteen. She traveled 1,500 miles from home to go to school and perfect her craft. She made a friend there, who ultimately wasn't going to become a prima ballerina, and with her friend leaving the school Deana was persuaded that she no longer wanted to be a dancer. It was difficult to see her give up something she had been training in for nine years, but at the same time she knew she'd be unhappy at the school without her friend there. Today Deana and her roommate are friends although they live on opposite ends of the country and see each other only once or twice a year. But that friendship has proven to be more significant to both women than their dreams of being a dancer. Deana is now an executive in the fashion industry and loves her job. Her happiness didn't come from continuing her journey with dance, but some of her happiness comes from continuing her friendship.

The best part of youth sports can be found in the friendships formed between players. In Robbie's senior yearbook the family of one friend put in a picture of four boys together winning the US Youth Soccer State Championship next to a picture of those same four boys winning the high school state championship five years later. The state championship was the last time all four of them played together on the same club team. But they rejoined in high school and remained friends. Both Robbie and Bryce have had soccer teammates who no longer play but have become great fans and loyal friends. 

This week we celebrate friendship which infuses youth soccer with the elements of fun and family. When we play with friends we have that much more fun because we share a deeper connection than just teammates. We share a connection off the field as well. The team becomes a family, enjoying picnics, parent-player games, sideline conversations, and the shared ups and downs of competition. Most kids will take away from youth sports not the memories of practices, games, and championships, but the memories of friendships – anecdotes, laughter, and support. Someday all of us will just be fans, even those who went on to play professionally, so it would be wonderful to rejoin our friends in the stands and continue the good camaraderie for years to come.
 

Fairly odd family

Susan Boyd

I have an odd family, but then, to paraphrase Tolstoy, each odd family is odd in its own way. And I can bet that most of you readers know what I mean. We struggle to fit some standard of idealized family perfection and then life gets in the way. In our case, as I'm sure in yours, soccer creates its own bits of oddness throughout each season. The comforting thing is that although we are odd each in our own way, we have bits of oddness in common. And if enough of us have them in common then perhaps that odd becomes the new normal. At least that's what I vote for.    

For example, my sons aren't the only sons who leave their cleats on the garage floor right next to the car door they hop into as we drive away. My husband isn't the only husband who hears "get the grey blanket" and returns with the blue hat. I'm not the only mom who looks up directions for the wrong field so that we drive 20 miles out of our way and nearly make Robbie, and two of his teammates late for the first game of the US Youth Soccer National Championships. We aren't the only family to drive eight hours across the Great Plains with a petulant teenager when his team loses said championship. And we know that we aren't the only family to read the schedule wrong and are sitting in our home in Wisconsin when the team manager calls and asks where we are for a game in Ohio. Or at least we hope we aren't because that last bit of oddness is nothing to be proud of.

I'm sure several of you drive cars that count their miles in the 100,000s. After all you are soccer parents and as such your disposable income goes for trips, gear, more trips, more gear, and fees. It's difficult to consider a new car when the old car works so well and has already been trashed by the muddy cleats, the spilled juice boxes, and the week old soccer socks stuffed under a seat. Just this week we discovered a banana bunch hidden under the seats that had been there long enough to ripen, rot, and petrify. Amazingly no one noticed the smell, or more accurately, no one noticed any different smell. Because the right side speakers are shorting out, we adjust the sound to come only out of the left, but that means that we often only hear one track of a song which could be the melody, the harmony, or the band. In the case of rap, we may get no words at all but have the pulse of the bass clear as a bell. The car would be perfect for committing a crime because if the police ever took soil, hair, and fiber samples they would end up with contradictory evidence and wildly different geographies. 

Here's an oddity that I hope at least one other mother has done. I printed up and laminated roster cards for the parents and left my own son off the roster. It was one of the other parents who pointed it out to me, after I had handed them all out. I redid the cards, but Bryce found out anyway. I had to endure the wrath of a 12 year old who was convinced that I did it on purpose. You would think after 12 years of watching me make mistakes, he'd know better. I'm the same mom who put a red towel in the washer with his white soccer gear. And I'm the same mom who forgot my wallet at work when I was driving Robbie down to practice in Chicago. I discovered it when I was below a quarter tank and had stopped to get more gas. I was able to limp the car to practice on fumes and then borrow some money from normal prepared parents so I could fill up for the trip home. Several of you have done the same, right?

It's no wonder our kids are convinced that they are the only ones trapped in an odd family made more embarrassing when we fill in other people on our quirks and foibles by way of a blog. Arguing that our oddness is what makes us a signature family doesn't really fly because for most kids hiding out in the center of a herd of identical families makes for the smoothest life. However, just like we parents have to discover that our kids aren't the only ones who forget gear, leave important forms sitting on the kitchen table, lose shin guards on the field, and kick balls into the woods never to be seen again, our kids need to learn that their parents aren't the only ones who forget that you lose an hour driving east across the time zones, or neglect to push "submit" on the computer when registering for camp, or sing along with all the Billy Joel songs on the radio. We are all odd in our own way, but we are all odd. Soccer only adds opportunities to express that oddness. And this is the week to celebrate being odd (which is to say, celebrate being a family).