Uh Oh! It's a Soccer Mom!

Soccer Mom - n. a middle-class or upper middle-class white woman who drives her children to soccer practice in an SUV or minivan.

Hmm. I fit that description, right? Even better, I play soccer myself! I'm a soccer-playing soccer mom! Except I realized I'm not a real soccer mom. I mean, I now drive a station wagon instead of the SUV. And when I came across a real soccer mom, I hoped I didn't appear that way to others.

I came across the titular person the other day at Harrison's soccer practice. We walked in, and lo and behold, there was another boy standing on the field with Coach Mike. Yay! Harrison was excited, as he's been the only child in class this session, and he said he was sad about not having any of his "soccer friends" in class with him. Today there was another boy. This would be a great class!

Or so I thought. I walked over and sat down next to the other child's mother and said hi. I didn't introduce myself, as she had a small, hand-held video camera in hand, and I figured I didn't need to be caught on camera. She would yell out encouraging things to her child every so often. Ah. Cute. Or so I thought.

It wasn't so cute when the boys started doing warm-up drills, consisting of running to the wall and back. Soccer Mom called out encouragingly, "Run, Son of Mine, it's a race! Yay, you won!" I sat silently watching, just thinking, "Hmm. OK, lady. It's not really a race. They're doing warm-up drills." It continued while the boys did some side-skipping. "Go, Son, go! Yay! You won!" I wondered if the woman thought I should be yelling to Harrison, "Hurry up, slowpoke loser! You're LOSING THE RACE! You must win to ensure my love!" No, I didn't, but sitting next to her made me feel obligated to call out encouragement, too, when I would have preferred to sit quietly watching, you know, the THREE-YEAR-OLDS learning about soccer.

I took out my knitting, but was already thinking better of it when the Soccer Mom said, "Geez, I sound obnoxious, don't I?" I smiled politely, and replied, "Oh no! Not at all!" Then I quietly put my knitting back in my bag, stood up and walked over to a couch on the edge of the field where I could watch in peace, on a more comfortable surface, out of earshot of Soccer Mom. I called out encouragements to Harrison once in while about the over-the-head throw-in techniques they were working on, and when he kicked a very nice shot into the corner of the goal, and I didn't yell about Soccer Mom's little pig precious angel when he tried to wrestle with Harrison and was lying on top of him on the field. I mean, Harrison likes to wrestle, too, but he does it with Hutton at home, not during soccer practice. Did I mention my feelings of smug superiority whenever Soccer Mom's Precious Angel picked up and carried the ball and had to be reminded to use his feet, while Harrison dribbled the ball? Yeah, it looks like competitive soccer moms bring out the worst in me. I really, really, really hope that Soccer Mom and Precious Angel were only at practice because it's spring break, and that they won't be returning. We shall see.

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The soccer mom thing is interesting to me, because it reminds me of what I might have become had Hutton not regressed into Autism. If Hutton were neurotypical, would I be videotaping him in soccer practice, yelling out to him to go, to win that race? I really can't say. I mean, I'm not that way with Harrison, but I might have been, had I not realized that life isn't all about making it to the wall fastest in a soccer drill.

I actually signed Hutton up for a spring soccer class, his first foray into sports since his diagnosis. We'll see how it goes when class starts in a few weeks. See, I am a soccer mom!