Though he foughtand fought it, Curtis now loves tee ball. He’s already told me he’s going to play again in August…and September…and October…and on and on. (We had to break the bad news that you can’t actually play tee ball in December in Utah.)
I’ve been enjoying tee ball as well. After coaching Curtis’ last soccer team, it’s kind of nice to just sit on the sideline and watch.
I didn’t decide to coach the soccer team because of some burning desire to coach. I just figured it was my turn to help. Coaching 3-5 year olds is no easy task. Especially when 8 of the 11 kids are three-year-old girls who are playing soccer for the first time.
Most of my energy was spent just trying to keep the kids on the field. Here are some typical conversations:
“Teacher,” (a lot of the kids called me teacher) “Can I get a drink?”
“Sure, just remember to come back, okay?”
“Teacher, I want to tell my mom something.”
“Okay, but don’t forget to come back.”
They never came back.
I’d usually start each half with all 11 kids on the field (you’re only supposed to play six at a time) because within the first few minutes, half of them would disappear.
I’m sure I wasn’t the best coach in the world, but I tried hard and I think I did a pretty good job. Apparently, Curtis didn’t agree.
I made it to all of the games but one, which I had to miss for Paige’s first grade graduation. I asked my friend Bert to fill in for me.
He didn’t want to, but I told him I really needed him and all he had to do was show up. The other coach could take care of the rules and the stopwatch and all that stuff. He just needed to keep track of the kids and maybe blow the whistle when the ball went out of bounds.
Through all of the shuffling of getting Curtis to the game and Paige to the graduation, I forgot to give Bert the whistle. Oh, well. He’d be fine.
The graduation was shorter than I anticipated and I was able to make it to Curtis’ game by half-time.
“How’s everything going?” I asked Bert.
“Good. But the other coach is a substitute, too. Neither of us had a stopwatch or even a whistle.”
“Uh, sorry about that.”
After the game, I asked Curtis how Bert was as a coach.
“Good,” he replied.
“How’s dad as a coach?” I asked.
“Good.”
“Well, who’s a better coach, dad or Bert?”
“Bert.”
"What?!” I said, louder than I meant to. “Why?”
“Bert didn’t even need a whistle.”
Why'd I forget that stupid whistle?
1 comment:
That Curtis kid is a smart one. I think I need to take him out for ice cream
Post a Comment