Jerk Parents, Jerk Kids

The other day was my four year old son's first soccer practice.  We have all been so excited!  My son has been "playing soccer" for years.  Sure, it hasn't been in the conventional way, but he's shown his interest by running around the house kicking things and celebrating his "goals".  He also does his own commentary in his version of Italian (or Spanish) depending on what channel the soccer game was on in the background.  It's really quite entertaining.

I wanted to get him started last fall because this boy needs an outlet of some sort for his excessive energy level, but he was too young.  He was so disappointed when I told him he had to wait.  Once or twice a week since this time we have discussed his soccer debut with great excitement.  Last weekend we went to pick up all of  his gear.  He was thrilled to pick out his shoes, shin guards and ball.  He was even running around the store pretending to play.  To add to the excitement, we even were able to get his cousin to be on the same team!

This Wednesday was the big day.  Daddy got him all dressed in his gear and headed to the field.  I left work and hoped to get there on time to at least wish him good luck before it started.  I couldn't walk to the car fast enough!  I struggled to find my keys in that abyss I call a purse.  The excitement had me fumbling around like a fool!  Since walking out of work my husband has already called me three times to find out how far off I am and what's taking me so long.  This is starting to make me feel a little anxious now.  I pull out of work expecting to rush straight to the field, but instead I'm met with an unusual amount of traffic.  Just my luck.

As I creep along two towns away from practice, my excitement to anxiety ratio is shifting.  My husband calls again.  "Where are you now?  How much longer until you get here?  Well hurry up!"  As if up until being told I should hurry, I was taking my sweet old time.  Now that I've been told to hurry, I can just drive right over top of all this traffic and get there.  Good thing he told me, thanks babe.  My husband tells me that in the short ride to the field, both kids have fallen asleep in his car.  He's sitting in the parking lot at the school waiting for me to get there so he can get my son over with the other kids.

I finally reach practice a few minutes past start time.  As I pull up, I see my husband is taking the kids out of the car.   I jump from my car and before I say a word, I start trying to take a few pictures of the boys in their uniforms.  I go for the perfect picture and my damn phone was set to camcorder.  Instead of the beautiful shot it should have been, it's one second of perfection plus 3 more seconds of confusion, my husband yelling at me that we have to go and me saying "what is wrong with this phone!!"  In the next few attempts, the boys take turns looking away for every single shot.  It's just going to have to do at this point.

We hurry to the field where the other kids have already gathered.  I pick up on the fact that my son seems to be pretty cranky already and I grow worried.  I know how this kid gets when he's cranky and it ain't pretty. I try to remain optimistic as I see the dynamic between my son and my husband.  My husband is already stressed out that I got there late and that the kids are cranky.  He "knows" already that it's going to be a disaster and is aggravated in preparation for this.  I keep thinking that cool heads should prevail because it's the only option.  I stand on the sideline and watch my son's resistance and my husbands stress level continue to grow.

Three...two...one....and there's the wailing.  My son has resorted to full-blown melt down mode already.  After two minutes my husband comes back and has already given up trying.  Now it's my turn to make the attempt.  Crying has given way to screaming as I walk across the field, dragging him with me.  I stop every two or three steps to try to console him, but he can't hear me speaking because of the volume of his own screams.  This is becoming really embarrassing.  I try to remind myself that all parents go through this so I should just not acknowledge the fact that I'm in the middle of a field with lots of people watching me fail miserably at parenting.

Twenty minutes in and I'm losing my cool as he refuses to stop screaming those shrill screams that cut right through you.  His screams are so loud that he is completely drowning out the coach's voice.  It's now disrupting practice as the kids are growing more interested in the struggle on the field than the coach's instructions.  He's since added in "but I'm tired!!!  I'm tired mommy I'm tired!!!!"  I'm forced to chose between allowing him to just give up or being sympathetic to the fact that he might really be tired.  I ask myself "What would a good parent do?"

My decision was made for me when it just kept getting worse.  Aside from his embarrassing display, I realized we were further embarrassing ourselves by not being able to contain our own frustration.  When you are at your breaking point, you sure don't mean say "why are MY kids always the assholes!?" loud enough for the other parents to hear, but somehow they always do hear it.  (Probably because we say it in a sarcastic whipser-yell).  I couldn't disrupt practice any further.  We tried our best and so I finally said "Let's just go!"

I'm humiliated and stressed out as can be at this point and so is my husband.  As soon as he got the go ahead, he went.  I was left standing there with the double stroller, the screaming kid, a water bottle too big to fit in the cup holder and my purse.  I struggled to push the big stroller through the grass with all the holes and bumps.  It didn't help that I was in my work clothes and heels.  I was turning my ankle with every other step and the boy was pulling away trying to take off.  The water bottle was dropping and the stroller was out of control.  As I approached a big mound of dirt, before I had time to change my route, my purse flipped off the seat and landed upside down into the dirt.  All of my personal belongings were now laid out on display.  My son continued his melt down and my husband continued walking ahead oblivious to all that was going on behind him.  Fighting tears I brushed the dirt off my wallet, cell phone, tampons, you name it so I could put it back in my bag.

A cluster of grandparents watched sympathetically along with the rest of the parents.  It was quite the display, and I have to admit I would have been watching too.  Only difference is I would probably have been laughing uncontrollably at this poor soul.  Since I was the poor soul in this situation, I found no humor in it whatsoever.  Kindly, an older woman said "Oh well, maybe next week".  Thinking back, I now appreciate her support.  I wish I could have controlled my temper when she said it though.  Instead, I responded with "yea well it better be because signing him up wasn't cheap!".  My God I'm an asshole.  Surely at this point they realize my kid's behavior is a direct result of his parents being jerks.  I feel so horrible.  Lady, if you are reading this I am so sorry!

Fed up and humiliated, I load the kids into the car.  I yelled at my son from the time we got in until the moment we got home.  Then he was sent to his room with "No TV, no nothing!!".  If he's "so tired" like he claimed, then he should just go to bed.  We called him down for dinner and sent him right back up when he was done.  The crying never stopped from when it first started at the field.  After his crying and my temper finally had a chance to cool down, I went to check on him and have a calm discussion about what he did wrong.  That's when I discovered he had a fever.  I'm such a jerk.  The kid really was tired.  Oh well, I guess we do have to wait for next week.  Wish us luck!