Why I Coach My Kids

The email just arrived in my inbox to sign my kids up for fall sports. As always, there is the box at the end asking for volunteer coaches. Season after season I check “YES.”

I have been coaching soccer for many years as an assistant high school coach, as an intramural soccer coach and most recently as a volunteer soccer coach of my three kids. The group of women pictured below is a huge part of the reason why I continue to check “YES.” These women – plus others not pictured – became part of me simply because we chased a ball around together.

Together we battled through the transitions from elementary into middle school and then to high school, to college and still now. We have each others’ collective backs as we attempt to live, wife, parent and “adult” as best we can. We gather together when possible. In this picture, it had been almost three years.

As I sat on a porch next to women who I hadn’t seen in years, I had no hesitation to tell them about life’s good, bad, difficult and exhilarating moments. We shared stories of illness, tragedy, muffin tops, grey hair, Botox, loss of religion, gain of spirituality, birth, death, careers paused and careers on the move. The tone of the conversations constantly changed as dry wit and sarcasm are ever-present in this group. There is no jealousy of our children’s accomplishments nor is their judgment for our children’s challenges. We would really want nothing but the best for each other and our families.

Our parents.

Now that I am the one juggling the games and practices of my three kids participating in multiple sports, I’ve never appreciated my parents’ efforts and sacrifices more.

Sacrificing relaxing weekends by the pool to watch games in 100 degree Texas heat. Sacrificing vacations for tournaments across the country. Running me to games after work. Running concession stands. Running annual soccer tournaments.

Running. Running. Running. My whole family was running.

And sacrificing.

As were the parents of my teammates.

I could sit and chat endlessly with the parents of the women pictured above. Those parents knew me pre-pimples. They knew me when we stood in line before games for “power pellets” (i.e. m & m’s that should magically lead to a win.) Our parents travelled across the country to watch us play hundreds of soccer games. They cheered for all of us. It was always about the team not any one particular child.

Teammates were their child’s teamMATES. Friends. Not rivals. Not competitors against their child trying to take a place on the top team.

When we transitioned into collegiate soccer players together, they knitted us blankets. We cuddled those same blankets as we licked our wounds whether after a hard fought game or after a hard night out.

These parents went to my wedding. They encouraged me whole-heartedly to go explore by living abroad, which were words I needed to hear as my husband and I took that leap. They were still cheering me on as an adult.

And, one very special parent was even my coach.

My coaches.

I hope that my coaches are – and were – aware of how much I appreciated their sacrifices and the amazing impact they had on us. I am not on track to make even a small percentage of this impact on others, but these coaches continue to inspire me to try nonetheless.

Yes, I am grateful for the ball skills, positioning and teamwork that they taught me that led to hard-earned trophies (not participation medals) and even a Division I soccer scholarship. I now have the opportunity to teach these bits of soccer wisdom to my children and their teammates. And, in turn, maybe they will teach their own kids someday.

Did you, my coaches, also know that you were creating an opportunity for those young ladies to create forever friendships that are still so brutally honest, so loving, so true and so completely irreplaceable? Thank you for tolerating our chatter in between drills. You created a legacy.

We will remember you forever.

So, why do I coach my kids?

Hopefully, you can clearly see my answer. I really like soccer, but what I truly love is everything else that I have received from playing soccer since I was young up until now.

The priceless friendships that I made on bus rides as well as in old school carpeted vans.

The ability to handle “feedback” (i.e. getting yelled at from the sidelines).

The benefit of sweat and exercise and independently working towards fitness.

The organizational skills to do what I had to do (i.e. study/work) before what I wanted to do (i.e. play).

The mental distraction from homework and tests as a kid and from the daily chores and mental chatter of adult life as I continue to play “Mom Soccer.”

And, the priceless joy of being playful on and off the field.

So, I will continue to meal plan on Sundays so that I have crock pot meals cooking while I am teaching pullbacks to 6-year-olds and volleys to teens. 

In the hopes that I can build up some kids knowing that they might have been crushed on social media on their way to practice or just simply had a terrible, horrible, no good, very bad kind of day.

In the hopes that I can be as good of a parent as my parents and all those parents who cheered me on and coached me with fierce passion.

In the hopes that I can continue to meet other amazing women who I instantly connect with through some invisible but strong thread that seems to bind those of us who have traveled similar paths as sporty children. We seem to unite as the seekers of that feel that we loved so much many moons ago.

And, with all my heart, I hope that my children and the kids that I coach will also find teammates (or a group with their same interest) that become part of them one cheek-hurting, belly-aching laugh at a time.

I write this with gratitude for my parents, past and present teammates, and all of my coaches from my Dad at four years old to my collegiate coach and all the coaches in between. And, Mr. C, I hope that you are volleying soccer balls through the clouds and coaching some angels. Hopefully, they listen better than we did.