Soccer and a Pointed Stick

Ian began playing with an indoor soccer league a couple weeks ago.  This is our first forray into team sports.  My children don't have the best temperments for team sports so I've tried not to put them into situations where lots of their peers are depending on them.  And, of course, with four special needs children and my own chronic depression to battle, I don't traditionally have the patience or energy required to involve all four of them in sports requiring multiple practices or games each week.

However, while shopping around for an enrichment activity for Ian, the son of a friend of mine gave me the idea to try soccer.  Ian loves running around, and this friend's son gave me the idea that having a ball to run after and focus on might be a good fit for my unfocused son.  So, enroll him I did, in an eight week recreational league with only one practice/game session per week.  Hooray!

Ian is beyond excited about playing soccer.  Each Saturday, he accosts anyone standing still long enough to listen and tells them he's going to play soccer.  Anyone.  All those people in the hallway on their way to other activities and all those parents in the bleachers watching their own children scrimmage in the younger league, Ian thinks of course they must be there for him to talk to and they couldn't possibly want to leave or watch or cheer uninterruptedly for their own children.  I need a muzzle for that boy. 

He'd be horribly irritating, if he weren't so darned charming at the same time.  His enthusiasm is infectious and entertaining.  And, blessedly, no matter what's against him, he very rarely dissolves into tears. 

During the first half of the hour he sprints around following his coach's instructions, having a blast, but exerting little actual control over the ball.  I hear lots of manners though, as he streaks through the paths of his teammates.  That's encouraging.  Then, having spent all his energy in practice, he's just as likely to sit on the sideline (or, darn him, in the stinkin' middle of the pitch) drinking water and watching the game as he is to chase the ball and try to score.  I was thrilled when he actually engaged in the game long enough to score a goal last week.  Whee!  The neat thing is that everyone else's children are just as unfocused.  So I'm content to bite my tongue and let him do his thing.  I'm still debating about enrolling him in the summer league.  It's a much bigger committment.

And now Tara...

Tara's sport of choice is really impressive on her.  Tara can destroy you with a pointed stick.  She takes a fencing class on Friday nights and twice last year she was the overall grand champion of the session.  She'd defeated everyone in the class (about 20 to 30 kids) to win a championship sabre.  And, during the last session, she was the overall runner up, and the female grand champion.  Obviously I can't even begin to tell you how thrilled I am with her work in this.

It's absolutely fascinating and yet utterly terrifying to watch her in this class.  The terrifying part is the room full of goofy irresponsible teenagers running around with pointed sticks.  Well, skewers really.  I have a vivid imagination (unfortunately, in this case) and sometimes, when the kids are really boisterous, it's just better that I sit out in the car.   That, so I resist the urge to turn full-on mama-bear at the idiotic little 12 year-old boys who (when the coach's back's turned) run at one another with epees (ep-pays) before they get all their gear on (despite repeated admonitions from the coach not to) and whose fool parents sit idly by in the bleachers, restraining nothing.  Grrr. 

But back to Tara, who is herself careful with her weapon at all times.  (Good girl.)  Tara fences like Kay skates.  Absolutely. No. Fear.  It's fascinating.  Despite the wire face-masks and thick neck guards each student must wear during every bout, many students flinch when the weapon comes at them, especially the girls.  Not Tara.  She leans in on the advance, all coiled steel spring, and attacks unflinchingly.  She's like Heath Ledger's character jousting in "A Knight's Tale" (I love that film).  She has full confidence in her gear and isn't about to give away an advantage by looking away or cringing.  Her agressiveness is an advantage.  Other kids have to fight off timidity.  Even her ADHD is a serious asset as she fences.  The physicallity of the battle with it's accompanying adrenalin rush calms rather than paralyzes her brain (even though she's nervous) so she can analyze and watch for advantage points. 

She also loves the social aspect of the class and is doing really well with her classmates.  Unfortunately, this is the last year she can take that class.  It's not offered in the summer or in the high school next fall.  We're going to have to find somewhere else for her, and it's probably going to involve trekking down into St. Paul.  *sigh*