Suiting Up
Look not
every man on his own things,
but every
man also on the things of others.
--
Philippians 2:4
Maddy is on a team for the first
time. She's a very proud, very short member of the Tigers, a soccer club for
first-grade girls. They play 4-on-4. There's no score and no goalie. The games
are action-packed, when the kids aren't staring off at the clouds or kneeling
to tie their shoes. Maddy loved picking out her first uniform, and wore her
shinguards and socks to bed the night before the first practice.
Her coach is an orthodontist by day,
and a coffee-toting, whistle-blowing comedian at soccer practices and games.
When they score and high-five him - well, LOW-five, considering the height
differential -their pudgy little hands smack his giant one. It's adorable.
He has made this first sporting
experience a real joy for Maddy, not only because of his patient instructions,
but because he's funny. For example, he's faced with the ultimate sports
challenge: on his team there are three Maddys - two Madisons and our Madeleine.
We love his coaching solution: he just calls them all "Fred."
Maddy's three older sisters came to
her first game. They loved how her soccer shorts came up to her armpits and
down to her knees. They loved her intensity, and how she'd beam and whoop when
she made contact with the ball.
The grandmas came to the second
game. They proclaimed that if cuteness counted in soccer, the Tigers would win
the World Cup. They loved how every little girl found a way to help the team.
The best one was when Maddy tried to kick the ball in the center of a big bunch
of kids, but whiffed and fell down . . . and her fallen body blocked a shot on
goal. The crowd roared. She grinned. It was her best play.
She's a natural-born defender. The
first time the other team scored, she made two tiny fists and punched down
toward the ground. You could hear her thinking, "THAT'S not going to happen
again!" Whenever anybody on her team scores, her grin is enormous, and she
pumps her fist into the sky as if exhorting a stadium of thousands of fans.
Maddy hasn't scored yet, although
she came close. Good thing it missed: it would have gone into her own goal.
But who are we kidding? She's only
in it for the treats. She calls them "awesome" and "splendid," especially the fudge
brownies with sprinkles.
But team spirit has definitely taken
root in her little heart. A few days after her first game, I took her down to
Omaha's zoo for a last outing before school started. Lingering over hot dogs at
the pavilion, we saw a family with a young man in a wheelchair, apparently a
quadriplegic.
Maddy looked at him, then turned to
me and said solemnly:
"He can't play soccer."
Ooh. What could be worse, to her
young mind? Images of her frolicking on that soccer field flashed through my
mind . . . the darting little runs . . . the solid, satisfying kicks. . . .
She added:
"Well, maybe he can't play. But he
can still wear the shirt."
As if . . . he can still be on the
team, can't he? Her eyes searched my face.
"Of course he can," I replied. She
beamed.
Thinking of others FIRST! She
shoots! She scores! G - O - A - L !!!!!
I was humbled by her empathy and
insight. She "gets it" about the teamwork and the need for belonging. That's important
to remember on teams, in families, in offices, in schools . . . just about
everywhere people get together. It's a good message for this Labor Day, and
every day.
You don't have to be a star. You
don't even have to be very good. Sometimes you help your team the best just by showing
up . . . suiting up . . . and caring. Just being happy to be a part of it.
If one so small can understand the
key to teamwork, maybe there's hope.
Thanks, Li'l Coach. I needed that.
Let's celebrate! Got any more fudge brownies with sprinkles? †
