Mini Kickers

and high-fives

We signed her up for soccer. 45 minutes of “Mini Kickers” at the indoor turf field.

She didn’t understand why she couldn’t wear her pink Umbro cleats inside, and we forgot the shin pads, which were more for fun than anything else.

She held my hand as we stepped onto the field, little blue jerseys blurring past us. I hadn’t bought one at sign-up, so she chose a yellow-and-white polka-dot shirt with pink shorts instead.

She looked around and ran to grab a ball.

She kicked it around until the coaches organized them into groups. Caroline sat at attention and listened to directions, giving the coach a thumbs up to indicate she understood the plan.

She rotated through the stations, running over to me and the baby—who had been dragged along to the first of many older-sibling events—to get a drink of water.

When I asked if she was having fun, she nodded and ran back onto the field.

With ten minutes left, all 14 kids huddled up. The coaches put white pinnies on half of them. It was 7-on-7.

A herd of children ran in an orchestrated clump toward a tiny red ball. Eventually someone kicked it into the teeny net. Everyone clapped.

They reset.

And the same scene repeated three more times.

I watched as Caroline danced around the perimeter of the circle, her ponytail bopping happily on top of her head.

The swarm of kids circled around the ball. She took a step back toward a little girl with tight curly hair in a matching jersey. Caroline glanced between the group and the girl.

Then she extended her hand for a high five, as if to say: You’re doing so great.

I pulled out my phone to text Clayton, “After our first try at soccer, we’re def vying for more of a sportsmanship award vs MVP.”

And honestly, I’m pretty happy about that.