My daughter, the jock

I have no idea how this happened. To put it mildly, Sharon is no jock. I, well, have some small skill in a few things here and there. But no one in their right mind would ever, ever call me a jock.

Rachel is a jock.

Okay, sure, she's only four-years-old. Who can tell where she's heading on the road of life, right? Well, all I can say is she's taken every jock exit on that road so far. She's always been an extremely physical child. She learned all the physical stuff first. She climbed, jumped, swung, really early. For two cerebral parents like Sharon and me, this was suprising, even a little disconcerting. Last summer, I noticed that she really liked to play with her soccer ball and was actually pretty good at kicking it for a three-year-old. We figured why not? Let's sign her up for Tiny Tot soccer and see what happens.

Year One was interesting. There was a kid on the team named, I kid you not, Sigfus. His parents were European, called the game football, and had clearly trained young Sigfus from an early age to kick and kick hard. We won lots of games. Rachel had fun chasing after the ball and kicked it a few times, but she also enjoyed picking flowers for her coach in the middle of the game. It was an enjoyable enough experience that we decided to sign her up again this year.

Year Two, she's one of the biggest kids on the team. She gets it. She follows that ball like there's no other more important object in the world. And she's always willing to keep playing. On this team, a lot of the kids lose interest and the Coach has a hard time keeping a team of five on the field. Rachel played more than any other kid at yesterday's game. (And what's more, the truth is, the girls carry the team. Rachel, Adelaide, and Cora play hard. The boys are pretty wishy-washy about the whole thing.) Rachel was always willing to get in the game if her teammates had decided playing in the sandbox was more fun. What's more, she scored a goal! Scoring a goal is a rare thing in these games because even if the kids can get the ball down there, they still have to be able to kick it into the net. We're talking four-year-olds, remember. Rachel took the ball, dribbled it down the field just like we'd practiced, and kicked it right in the net! I don't remember ever being so proud of my little girl. Isn't that strange that I, who has never been a sports guy, should find so much in her scoring that goal to be proud of?

My daughter, the jock. I guess I better get used to it.