Wednesday, September 10, 2014

Hierarchy of kickball

I love my son. That is all there is to it. I love all my children equally and differently and passionately and desperately. Being a tomboy all of my life has made having a boy the cherry on top of the childbearing sundae. Wait...that sounds kind of messed up...but you moms hopefully know what I mean. Lots of my friends have the best time buying dresses and goopy outfits for their girls. I did go to a clothing party and bought two skirts for my girls at like $43 a piece. Guilt purchases, kind of like that guilt spatula that you already have 32 of in your kitchen drawer from Pampered Chef parties that you feel bad leaving without helping out the hostess get her rare veggie slicing hostess gift. After I picked the hub up off the floor when I told him what I paid, he asked nicely that I not attend anymore of those clothes parties unless I could guarantee that the skirts would be passed down and used by his great grandchildren. So I haven't been in a while. I digress. When I have to buy dresses or school clothes or finery for the girls, there really is not enough Secret to hide the stressful flop sweat that comes from this task. I would live in Chucks, jeans and a gray Old Navy tshirt(LL Bean if I splurge) if I could get away with it. The girls have style. I do not. Thank the good Lord for their "My Style" Pinterest pages. I get ideas from those.

Now with my boy, I am piiiiccckkkyyy. From his spiky haired head to his always funky little toes, I have opinions. He's just a quirky guy. His friends are usually decked out in some sort of Under Armour or "slippery" sports material. He likes that stuff, but he generally goes for the funny tshirt. Talking food complaining about their difficulties in life, ironic hunor like bacon and pigs or chickens and fried eggs in conversation. You know, that's funny. So he has his talking food shirt, a pair of camo shorts and a pair of Hulk Van's and he walks on to the kickball court. Sounds like a joke, right? Although it kind of isn't. Since he doesn't live in one of the large feeder neighborhoods for our school, he doesn't hang out with lots of these boys in the neighborhood. He's a different kind of kid. He has two big sisters, so he doesn't think girls are all that yucky. He doesn't play football or baseball like the majority of his friends. He's a soccer boy all the way. So when he tries to break in to the standing game every day on the playground he is met with a "No" or "Not today" comment from the others. His best buddy from last year will not include him this year and made a point of giving out birthday invitations to boys in his class...just not to him. My boy said the one time they let him play kickball, he kicked the ball too far, he got around the bases and they told him he was done. The kid plays soccer...he has a heck of a foot. As a mom, I understand that there is a hierarchy to all playground sports. There is a boss who usually tells everyone else what to do. Maybe two bosses, who are also the heads of the two teams. They choose who they want and the rest can go find another activity. I can't fight his battles for him. I can equip him with the skills to deal with whatever comes his way. But as a mom whose heart breaks when I see that little face with those glasses and that super smile and hear the disappontment in his voice. I want to go yell, "Let my baby play some blasted kickball!!!" or "You are just intimidated by his excellent foot!!". Yeah. That would go over like, well, it would be bad.

Sorry. I'm tired and my words went off the rails. I just wish everybody could participate and the playground rules would change. They haven't changed in the umpteen years since I was 7, so time to get used to disappointment. He'll learn to find something else to do out there...or he'll take his "Track Meat" tshirt with running bacon, ham and sausage and demand a place on a kickball team. EIther way, I'll anxiouly be waiting in the pick up line, ready to hear his blow by blow of playground antics.

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