Future Directions

Andres had his first career crisis this weekend, brought on by recent trips to see the Revs and the Whitecaps, Boston's very own professional ultimate franchise.

Andres: "Daddy when I grow up I want to play for the Revs. But when I'm not playing for the Revs I want to play with the Whitecaps!"
Me: "That might be difficult."
Andres: "Can I play on two teams?"
Me: "Well, when the Revs don't have a game, they practice a lot--that's their job. So it's tough to play for more than one team at a time."
Andres: "WHAT?! I guess I'll just play on the Revs then."
Me: "Probably a good choice."

He's only six, but he's taking this Revs career seriously. Yesterday, he asked me how old he had to be before he began playing for the Revs. I said 16. (I don't know why I gave him this age in particular, but I think Diego Fagundez, Andres' favorite player, was 16 when he played his first game with the team.) He groaned. 16 seemed so far away. We went outside and practiced a bit to kill some time between now and then.

It was hot, so practice didn't last very long. Andres beat me 10-5 in a game marked by many dubious foul calls and obscure rules. (He usually wins.)

After the game, we sat inside drinking cold water. He was still peppering me with questions. I found one of them particularly interesting.

Andres: "Daddy how old were you when you played for the Revs?"
Me: "Oh I never played for the Revs."
Andres: "Why not?"
Me: "I wasn't good enough. You have to be really good to play for them."
Andres: "Oh. So...all the people don't play for the Revs?"
Me: "No."

Up until this point, I think he had believed that playing professional sports was a matter of choice--if you wanted to do it, then you could do it. Sorry, kid. It's a bit tougher than that.

He mulled this over for a bit, and then moved onto something else. I was a little worried that I had burst his bubble. He's a deep thinker, like his dad, and sometimes he'll remind me, months after the fact, of something that I had once said, or of something that I had said I would do, that has clearly been troubling him ever since I said it. Would this be one of those times?

But by the evening he was back to his dreams of glory. He was running around the house telling anyone who would listen, "When I play for the Revs here's how they will announce my name: an-DRES gran-OF-SKY!" He rolls the dr in his name now, which I love. And he has developed a special announcer's voice too. He's becoming a full-fledged soccer junkie.

I hope he stays starry-eyed for a while. It's fun to see him wrapped up in something that he finds so fun, even if he may be headed for disappointment down the road. I was once that way too. Though, truth be told, he has a much better shot at making the Revs than I ever did of making the Celtics.