Gus had two soccer games this weekend, plus team pictures. Although only Alamae and I watched him play on Saturday, a sizable showing came on Sunday to root him on. The point being, soccer was the central to all our plans these past few days.
Like usual, I was far more anxious than I care to admit. Watching my kids perform always does it to me. I desperately want to be the mom who doesn't care. The one who says with all honesty, "The only thing that matters is that they have fun."
Truthfully, I don't care that Gus's team wins as much as I care about how Gus plays. And I don't care because I care, but I care because I worry that the other parents and the coach care. What if they get angry if he misses the ball? If he doesn't stay in position? If he is slow crossing the field?
I try to remind myself that most of these parents, like me, are so focused on their own child that they hardly notice what the other players are doing. It's a cold comfort, indeed. Very little about it feels right. Very little except for Gus's enthusiasm. And that's enough.