This past weekend was my son’s first soccer match and needless to say there was way too much excitement in the family. I was more nervous than excited. As my husband says, that’s apparently my go-to feeling. And I agree, sometimes. He also has his reasons ; like on Thursday evening, I suddenly thought that my son may need his inhaler at the soccer field and so I immediately panicked when I saw that we did not have one at home. Failing to reach the pediatrician’s office a couple of times added fuel to the fire and when finally they got my request, they sent his presciption to a pharmacy we hadn’t used in the last couple of years, one that was quite far from our house. And then I got mad and wasted many minutes trying to figure out the reason behind this action of theirs and also how to make time to actually pick up the inhaler. Mind it, all of this was absolutely not necessary, even remotely. My son does not have asthma. So yes, may be I do panic.

Moving on.

It was close to a hundred degrees on that Saturday, a bit unsual for September but my son’s enthusiasm was through the roof and so we forgot to pay attention to the temperature. And that resulted in us dressing inappropriately for the weather in jeans and t-shirts which were so not suitable for the heat. We had packed snacks and water and juice and sports drinks and all of those things, thankfully correctly. Two hundred teams had registered for the tournament, all of which were supposed to be playing on both days. I do not want to go into the logistical nightmare the organizers had to go through. Parking was surprisingly not a nightmare. With great anticipation, we started walking towards our assigned field and that’s when I got lost.

Lost by of the sheer massiveness of the event and the sea of people and the huge concession stands and ice cream trucks and the rows of porta potties. I panicked for a second if my children would literally get lost in that chaos that seemed to be all around, in a rather organized manner. We trudged along for twenty minutes and finally reached our field, all sweaty and already tired. The sun was as bright as it could be at 9.30 in the morning but the energy was electrifying, from cheering parents to shouting coaches and the kids running in whichever way they could. It was a sight to see for sure. As I looked around to take it all in, I realized that anyone could spot us as that ‘one clueless family’.

At the first match my son’s team got, to put it gently, brutally defeated, by these kids who looked 8 but played with the agility and fierceness of 15 year olds. My son and his teammates stood no chance. 10-4 was the final score. I took it to heart. I was devastated and panicked again, thinking would the coach give my son another chance to play. Again, the point to be noted here is that this was his first match and excellence was not expected of him. We had put him in this soccer program precisely to receive the proper training and guidance to play well. His coach knew that. Did I not know that? As the mid day sun shone with more brilliance and the stifling heat made it difficult to breathe, the kids with soaked jerseys and a little subdued enthusiasm, got on to the field for their next match after an hour’s break. This time they won 7-4. While the other parents and the coaches celebrated, and I did too, I was also filled with disappointment as my son, who, according to his coaches was really talented, had not scored a goal. Some crucial facts like his brillinat assists in two goals, a fantastic save and the time when he received the soccer ball on his chest and then made a pass-all of which drew cheers from the coach and fellow parents, seemed to have had no meaning for me.

We packed up our belongings and could barely walk back to the car. We were tired. My son’s face had turned red from the heat and I could see how completely exhausted he was. This was his very fisrt experience of this nature. We stopped at a McDonald’s for lunch and ate in the car. The kids fell asleep and as we drove back, I paused to think what had given rise to that tiny feeling of disappointment. I was ashamed of myself and also hopping mad for having thought this way. Was the South Asian style of parenting the reason I had come to internalize the fact that nothing but excellence was to be achieved at all costs? Or was it because all around the pressure to outshine is so much that I have unknowlingly succumbed to that? Everyone seemed to be great at everything and brilliance was in plenty. Or did I expect that my children would be nothing but of extremely high merit in all they did and never fail? I had a miserable evening reasoning with myself and failing miserably. There could never be any reason for my disappointment that day. My focus had shifted and it was heavily flawed.

On Sunday, I stayed home with my daughter while my son and his dad went to the game. It poured cats and dogs during the latter part of the game, which they lost. The second game was tied at 5-5. At bedtime that night, my son said, “Ma, it was a good weekend”. And I could barely hide my tears. He had worked hard last year and this year to prepare for the trials that took place in May and I clearly remember the smile on his face when the results were published. From May to September, it had been a long wait for him and I know how much it must have meant for him to play on Saturday. And yet, even if momentarily, I had let disappointment creep in.

Learning and growth are not possible without failing and happiness cannot be found only in the end results. To find joy in the moments that we are living, to not let exhaustion take away from the satisfaction and to never let disappointment creep in when there is space only for pride are my takeaways from the weekend where my son shone as bright as that midday sun.

Thank you for stopping by. Stay safe. Stay kind.