Every time I find myself at an organized event where I have to interact with other parents simply because our kids are together, I can’t help but feel like a judgmental jerk. Yet, I must admit, I’m the one pushing my kids to engage in team sports or activities after the long, dreary winter months. You can even label me with my inflated sense of importance when I discuss the necessity of team sports.
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Go ahead, I won’t argue.
Team sports are beneficial for children. They learn new skills, boost their confidence, and enjoy some fresh air—whether it’s sunny or rainy. Sometimes, they even make friends.
However, beneath my know-it-all facade lies an introvert who genuinely dislikes participating in these situations. It’s not the activities themselves; rather, it’s the awkward social dynamic that unfolds when a group of kids is gathered and their parents are expected to interact in close quarters. The silence that turns into forced chit-chat about the weather or snack schedules is unbearable. If you listen closely, you can almost hear the desperate attempts to find a topic that will make the time pass more quickly.
Here’s the kicker: I’m really good at pretending to be extroverted. I can easily say hello and ask how your day is going while I’m mentally plotting my escape. I’m adept at being friendly to your child, even though I’m annoyed that you’ve abandoned me for the Cool Moms, leaving me to watch your kid because she’s playing with mine. I offer snacks that I didn’t have to bring, but do so out of a sense of obligation because it’s not your kid’s fault you can’t seem to check your emails (while scrolling through your phone). I can spark conversation where there is none, and despite having a chronic case of Resting Bitch Face, I somehow manage to appear approachable on the soccer field.
But I’m not really. I try to position myself away from the other parents, spreading my gear around to create a makeshift barrier. Yes, I know that makes me seem snobbish. Sometimes, I feign interest in my phone to avoid interaction. Please, just let me be. Despite this, other parents continue to approach me, asking questions when all I want to do is watch my kids play soccer.
On any given evening, to my left is the parent who screams at their child as if they’re in the World Cup. I suppress my irritation and thank my lucky stars for my sunglasses as she tells him to toughen up after he gets hit in the face with a ball. To my right is the mom who insists on sharing how she knows the coach, how her kid has an iPad, and how he’s terrible at soccer.
Inside, I’m screaming, “GO AWAY, PLEASE.” Outside, I’m nodding with a fake smile that my husband interprets as, “Please, end my suffering.” I cheer for their kids amidst their chatter, hoping my “Good try!” drowns out the overzealous encouragement from the other parents. I’d love to remind them we don’t even keep score at this age, but I hold my tongue; I despise repeating myself to adults. I offer snacks to the nearby kids and grin when they mock my preparedness. I bite my tongue when they criticize a player’s parenting, especially after hearing them tell their own child to stop acting like a girl.
This routine plays out every week. Sometimes, I manage to escape the chaos. Occasionally, my daughter tugs on my hand, insisting she needs to use the restroom. I act as if it’s a hassle to walk to the port-a-potties, but honestly, I relish the brief reprieve from the endless chatter. It’s a smelly yet oddly freeing escape. When my husband is there, he becomes a much-appreciated buffer, and I’m not ashamed to admit that I cling to him.
As the kids congratulate each other after the game, I calmly gather our belongings, trying not to appear too eager to leave. I remind my kids to collect their gear and offer to help the coaches with clean-up, only to be told they’ve got it covered. Just as I start to walk away with my kids, someone calls out, “See you next week, Emily!”
Oh, great.
This article was originally published on August 4, 2015.
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Summary:
This article humorously explores the challenges of being a “soccer mom” while navigating the awkward social dynamics that arise during kids’ sports events. The author shares her struggles with extroversion, awkward interactions with other parents, and the desire for solitude amidst the chaos. With relatable anecdotes, the piece highlights the complexities of parenting in a team sport environment.