The Terror Soccer Mom

I remember when I had a life.  When I had time to write on here.  Then soccer season started.

Caleb just played his last game of the season.  Abby just finished up this past weekend.  Praise the Lord.  Now, just a few t-ball games to get through and we are free!

Actually, I love watching them play.  As much as I do not want to admit it, I enjoy being the soccer mom who packs up the van with folding chairs and a stroller.  I like cheering them on and bonding with the other parents.  It brings me joy to see them having fun and developing their skills.

I do not, however, enjoy the terror soccer moms that one hears about.  You all know who I mean.  The mom who screams at her child, complains about the coach and could pretty much do everything better if it were up to her.

We had one of those this season.

At first, I kind of liked her.  She sought me out to discuss the soccer futures of our daughters (since our girls were the oldest and most skilled players).  We bonded as we discussed past coaches that our girls both had.

Then, it began.  The yelling.  The complaining.  The attitude.

Her daughter is really good.  She has a natural gift to take the ball and score.  But, like the rest of the team, she is still a kid and is human.  For some reason, her mom has forgotten this.  All I heard from her section of the sidelines was, "Move!  Run!  Make a move!  Stop standing there and go!  What are you doing?  Come on!"

Most parents yell, "Great job!  Good try!  Keep going!" in an encouraging way.  And without a mean undertone.  That makes sense to me.

This terror soccer mom despised the coach.  If her daughter was told to pass, it was a problem.  If she was told to run, it was a problem.  Basically, anything that the coach yelled out, the mom disagreed with (even though she had most likely just screamed the same instructions to her daughter ten seconds before).  If her daughter made a mistake, it was because of the coach, not natural human error.

What makes me hurt the most is the way she talked to and about her daughter.  It was never encouraging.  If I were her daughter, I would feel that I was never living up to my mother's expectations.

It is just soccer.  A sport.  For fun.

The sad thing is, that talented girl just might learn to hate the sport if she is constantly put down about her skills.

I love being a soccer mom.  I hold the position with care because I know that my attitude will forever affect the attitude of my children.  I want them to see me as an encourager.  I want them to know that they can make mistakes.  I want them to know that my love is unconditional.

I want them to have fun playing the game.