I Came. I Judged. I Feared Karma.

Braylen, my nephew, has recently entered the world of organized sports.  My little David Beckam has decided to give soccer a try. Today I stepped on to the court as a spectator rather than a player.  I quickly realized my inner intensity to this experience was much different than those around me, and perhaps inappropriate for the "just have fun" mentality of most. 

Differences in Spectating:

 

 

Moms: neglectfully socializing as their child takes his or her first steps to a life of letterman jackets, groupies, preferential treatment, and scholarships.  They miss the crucial moments of scoring a goal or blocking a shot.  However, they do it up big every few minutes with a "woot, woot" or an over eager clapping sequence.  Even if their kid isn't in the midst of the action they are validated by mom.

 

 

He's simply hydrating, but even that apparently "wows" mom.  Maybe she was in the right.  He did get the straw in the juice box without spilling.

 

Dads: tend to be more active in their kid's athletic journey.  Males like to encourage through "constructive criticism." Sure they're under 5, but a dad realizes that's an athlete's prime.  Over praise could hinder their motivation to kick harder or push more discretely. 

 

 

 

 

I realize that through the years I've developed some high standards for the men I associate with. An example, would be my need for "below the ankle workout socks." These are highly encouraged for family, friends, and other.  Meulemans, Zimmermann, Lazzari, Lori, Cheri, and Lisa, friends from work, have been very therapeutic in allowing me to discuss this need pretty regularly at lunch.  Through the boys' random sock checks, I'm slowly becoming more comfortable with the idea that I cannot conform everyone and that's ok.  This may no longer be a deal breaker in who I decide to let into my circle of trust.  However, today as I watched the dads I found a dealbreaker in regards to who will father my future children.  A man who allows a child to score on him is one of two things.  Either extremely unathletic or withholding which in effect builds a kid's athletic arrogance prematurely.  I blame Stephon Marbury's father for his untimely exit from the NBA.  Let it be known, I would not have a child with this man...

 

 

Judging An Athlete By His Attire:
I was so proud of Braylen because he not only looked the part, but he scored a goal (I puffed up and silently peacocked a little in the bleachers)!  As I scanned the court I found myself picking out what kid I'd be ok claiming as my own based on their outfit choice.

The Jock/Cool Kid (take note of the fact he's sporting shin guards)...

 Then we have the kid whose parents can't let go of the glory days...

I believe tying the shirt with a rubber band or hair tie was the standard when rocking a scrunchii was also seen as the social norm.  This little boy's parents need to stop partying like it's 1999, and let go of the 90s. 

Although I can't help these thoughts, I fear God will try to teach me a lesson someday by having my son be a musical prodigy and my girl be a ballerina.  Don't get me wrong.  I COMPLETELY value, respect, and am impressed by kids that take these avenues rather than sports, but as someone who lacks these talents completely I fear I'd limit my child's opportunities.  I can't find rhythm.  I've been looking for years.  Even worse, I'm completely incapable of teaching the proper tapping sequence on a cowbell.  My kid's talents would peak at 3 with at home support like that.  This is a vicious world, and reflecting on my thoughts today I realize, I'm perpetuating the problem.  Some say Karma's a witch, and that scares me. :(