Life Lessons in Acceptance

Around the time of my oldest’s first birthday, I remember having a conversation with a friend who had three teenagers and coached lacrosse at the high school.  I obviously had nothing in common with him at that point in life, but he got a twinkle in his eye as he mentioned the years of fun in sports that lie ahead of me.   ”Oh, just wait until she is three,” he said.  ”You can sign her up for Pee-wee soccer!”

Not knowing anything about my daughter’s personality towards team sports or group activities, from that day on I looked forward to Pee-wee soccer.  I’d walk by the sandwich board display on the lawn of our Town Hall, and I’d mentally calculate how many more seasons there were until I could walk in and register my kid for soccer.

After all, I grew up in a soccer town.  There was little choice in the matter — if you lived in town and had no physical limitations, you played youth soccer.  Not only did you play, but you wore the satin jacket with each season’s patches hand-sewn on the sleeves by a loving mom.  (I confess, I still have mine from my first year playing, 1982).  I’ll never forget my first game, on a raw, gray day at Nelson’s Field right on the bay, where every kid on the field bolted towards the ball when the referee’s whistle blew.  Then there was the year my dad coached and not only shared his soccer skills with me and my friends, but he protected me from a school bully on the team by punishing her with laps if she acted up.   In my final youth soccer year we won our division, but fell short of qualifying for the state championship.   I was sorely disappointed in high school when, even though I was a decent goalie and forward wing, I had no chance of playing even on Junior Varsity, given the competition of nearly every other child in my school having grown up on the soccer field.

So, you can imagine why I was a little pumped at the idea of soccer coming back into my life, even if it was only for three-year-olds.

When the sandwich board appeared on the lush lawn on Town Hall a few months after my daughter’s third birthday, I was thrilled.  The time had finally come!  We signed up, picked up the tiniest shin guards I’ve ever seen (in pink!), and talked about it for weeks.

Day one of pee-wee soccer was a gorgeous, sunny spring day, and my daughter was ready to go.  We packed up her things, along with her 9-month-old brother, and headed to the field.  Upon signing in with the coach, she chose a purple soccer t-shirt from the pile and hit the bench while waiting for the practice to begin.

What happened next came as a total shock and surprise.  After the first ten minutes of excitement wore off, it became very clear that my daughter had no interest in soccer whatsoever.  As the coach directed speedy drills and relays, my daughter stared at me, as if to say “Are you serious? This lady is screaming at us to run and kick the ball, when all I want to do is pick dandelions.”

What is most surprising, is that I was surprised.  Really, if I had really thought about her personality and the things she enjoys doing, like books, puzzles, art and pretend play, I should have figured that out.  What I had pictured as a cute activity teaching kids gross motor skills like running and kicking a ball, actually turned out to be a competitive team-based sport with a coach yelling across a field at a bunch of three-year-olds.  One look at my quiet, shy and independent pre-schooler and I knew this was not her thing.

So, what’s a mom to do?  Knowing the benefits of team-building activities, socialization and physical fitness, do I keep encouraging her to learn a new skill set, thinking maybe she’ll someday find the enthusiasm to participate?  Or do I follow her lead, being present and accepting of her individual spirit, and carefully find ways to enrich her life in a more harmonious setting?

When I was in training to become an Itsy Bitsy Yoga facilitator, I was going through a rough time emotionally.  Leaving my family for five days to travel and complete the course, I was thrilled to be on my own and to have a break from mommyhood.  Little did I know that the class would teach me more as a parent than as a yoga instructor for babies and toddlers.  The moment that another trainee spoke about her ability to meet her 4-week-old exactly where he was, letting go of expectations and being present in the moment, I nearly cried.  Here she was, in the class, with her infant son cradled in her arms, and there I was, happily on my own with no one’s needs to tend but my own.  The fact that so many trainees had brought their babies with them to the training was surprising enough, but then this statement from one of them really opened my eyes.  I had been so unhappy because my own baby at home had not turned out as I expected.  He was not the easy-going, laid back infant his sister was, and I found myself struggling to make him happy.   I returned home to my family at the end of the five-day course, and decided I needed to practice acceptance and unconditional love for my son, as his personality and individual spirit made him who he was, not who I wanted him to be.

This lesson comes back to me often, and has been on my mind quite a bit this fall.  Now going on five, my daughter is old enough for many of the wonderful activities that are available in our area, and the flyers, booths at local events and peer pressure make me constantly question whether we’ve made the right decisions about how she spends these crucial early years.   While most well-intentioned parents take every opportunity to enrich their kids’ lives, no matter the cost, schedule, or effect on their child’s happiness, my inner yogi reminds me of two important principles:

1. Asteya: Non-Stealing / Honesty:  Take advantage of no person or situation for personal gain.

2. Santosha: Contentment:  Practice being comfortable with what you have and what you do not have. Embrace all experiences as opportunities to learn and grow.

When other moms ask me if we want to sign up for dance class with them, or when I’m feeling bombarded with advertisements for upcoming t-ball registration, I need not use my own enthusiasm for an activity like soccer to pressure my own children to participate.   I will remain driven by their individual strengths, desires and needs, rather than my own, when providing new opportunities to grown.  I will find alternatives that align with their personalities, even when a perfectly structured activity doesn’t exist.  I will follow my family’s needs, and respond accordingly, rather than trying to fit them into a mold of expectation.

As it turns out, after trying yoga, gymnastics, ballet and soccer, my daughter has shown the most enthusiasm and excitement for swimming.    I knew she’d take swimming lessons for safety, but never imagined this would be her favorite activity.   She loves the water and gets stronger and more confident with every lesson.  I, on the other hand, am a terrible swimmer, probably because I hated taking lessons in the frigid Massachusetts Bay waters, and never got past the Intermediate course at summer camp.

But that’s the beauty of recognizing my children for who they are, and not who I was, or want them to be.

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