The Purple Penguin

Andres wasn't the only one kicking a soccer ball around this fall. Celia was out there, too, enjoying the Beautiful Game in a way only the Beautiful One could: with fashion, grace, and the natural intensity of a second-born child.

Somehow, Celia managed to find her way onto an all-girls team. This was unexpected--and, in fact, I had no idea that they even did single-gender teams at the Y, especially at such a young age. But there she was, surrounded by girls, and only girls, during their first team meeting. Once she saw the purple jerseys I figured she was going to have a fun season.

And she did.

An enthusiastic group listens to a lecture about the finer points of the game.

Soccer began with a 30-minute warm-up period, during which time kids generally toppled over the ball or their own feet repeatedly, if they chose to participate at all. It was often painful to watch (especially when my daughter had inexplicable bouts of forgetting how to kick a ball).

But these practice periods did afford me an opportunity to watch something that brought a smile to my face: Celia's utter joy when she scored a goal.

I had not expected that she would be so enthusiastic about success during a drill. Andres had never been that way; he had enjoyed the shooting practice, of course, but his demeanor didn't change much from goal to miss.

Celia was different, though. (Ok, I should have expected this.) Starting 15 feet away, she carefully dribbled once, looked up at the goal, dribbled again, looked up at the goal again, and then, after gently rolling the ball into the back of the net, quietly pumped her fist and whispered "Yes!" She was so happy. A huge smile graced her face, though she was not over-celebratory--her joy, it seemed, came from a place of deep personal satisfaction.

The scenario repeated itself a few more times. She scored, and she exulted. I smiled too.

Her brother gets most of the athletic attention largely because he is older, my only son, and often more eager to play sports than Celia. I know it is unfair of me to bestow more athletic attention on one child than the others. (My dreams of being an equitable father were well-intended, but have been dashed due to the realities imposed by actually being a father.) And watching Celia have fun on the soccer field made me feel guilty that I had already lost some opportunities to just enjoy playing with her, like I had played with Andres, just us two and a ball in the middle of Turner Street a few years back.

I suppose this is inevitable. Each child gets a slightly different version of parenting, both informed by and affected by the experiences of the siblings that came before. Maybe I didn't push soccer on Celia the way I pushed it on her brother. But now that she's playing, I suppose this is a good time to hold joint drill sessions in the backyard so that both Celia and Andres can work on their fundamentals.

A flying penguin.

The pre-game drills and spills mercifully ended, and we were finally treated to a game. Celia was very happy to be out there playing--she has an intense game face--but she often hovered on the periphery of the clump of players trying to kick the ball forward, which meant she didn't see much of it. When the ball did squirt out of the fray, Celia would give it a good kick forward, and seemed pleased with herself for doing it. (It should also be noted here that she scored a goal later in the season.)

It was so much fun to see her compete. When her team scored, she celebrated; when they were scored against, she looked disappointed. And in the middle, when a pack of kids was kicking the ball between, around, and away from the two goals, she seemed happy. That's really all I hope for, for both of my soccer-playing kids--that they have fun playing, and can celebrate victory and withstand defeat with their friends. Celia's off to a good start.