Luckily You Didn't Inherit my Soccer Gene

This is my son playing soccer:

This is my son, still playing soccer. He is joyfully getting hit in the head with a soccer ball:


















You can't see it, but he's smiling.

This is what makes my son so much fun. And what makes him a complete opposite of me, his (adoptive) mother. Thank God for the miracle of adoption and the genetics we do not share.

I played soccer for one season. I hid from the ball. It rained (or snowed) at every practice. My knees froze. I often forgot my shin pads, and ended up rolling magazines and stuffing them down my socks so it looked like I had the proper gear on.

I hadn't discovered the miracle of bobby pins. My hair took to the rain and wind like a brillo pad to warm water. It looked like I felt: terrible. I wanted off the field.

But my son? He LOVES soccer. ESPECIALLY in the rain. He loves running through puddles and splashing and slipping to his heart's content. Chasing that ball through mud-covered fields, slipping in the swamp that is our local park. He literally shines when covered in wet earth. His favourite memory is finding a worm in his hair one day after a particularly messy and muddy practice.

Me? I'd rather curl up in the fetal position, or drink gatorade on the sidelines than pick arachnids out of my hair after a practice.

Thank God for genetics - and not having them in common! I promise I'll be the best soccer mom possible. Not sure entirely what that looks like, but I will do it happily, even if it involves de-bugging you after every game.