Tending to the Teamwork

It felt like my brain lurched forward and then ground to a halt. It reminded me of when I was in high school and my El Camino's timing chain broke and I threw a rod. Literally meaning the engine no longer worked and I most likely would have to replace the entire thing, which I did. 

Fortunately that wasn't the case with my brain. However, as I continued to deliver my organization's annual candidate experience award ceremony that evening after completing our conference, already exhausted from the months of preparation and handwringing, I put myself on automatic pilot. The suit and tie I hadn't worn for three years squeezed me a little tighter than the last time due to extra covid pounds. The stage spotlights bore down on me and I could no longer feel the cool conference room air on my face. 

But I kept handing out awards, and smiling, and wiping my brow, and smiling, and all the cameras kept on taking pictures and videos. While on autopilot, I could only think of two things: missing my daughter's first soccer game of the season earlier that day, and I the fact that I wouldn't even be standing there on the stage giving these awards away if it wasn't for my amazing work team. 

The first thing was a no-brainer because I always miss my family when I'm traveling for work, and they miss me. We also work well together as a team, with my wife Amy of course leading the way. When I'm not there, she still architects it all and keeps things running. When I am home, I'm an integral part of our finely tuned engine. A loving one that purrs like a kitten with the power of a 350 horses under the hood (just like my old El Camino, before I threw a rod). 

We've instilled teamwork with our two daughters and it shows wherever they are -- at home, in the classroom, on the soccer field -- wherever. And when one isn't feeling the greatest, the others step up to do whatever needs to get done. Well, most of the time that is. Our girls are teens now, you know. 

When I played football in high school, we had a banner up in the locker room that read "T.E.A.M. -- Together Everyone Achieves More." Ain't that the truth. Besides living that tagline at home, my work team embodies the same spirit. Mercy me did they ever at our first in-person conference in three years. We all wanted it to succeed, needed it to succeed, and it did. The execution and teamwork was impeccable. Not only with my team, but also with the many volunteers who helped us this year. 

Yes, my brain locked up at the end of our event, and thankfully my team had my back. Now I'm home again, exhausted and sick, and my family's taking care of me. Tending to the teamwork is a win for all. 

Thanks to Mom (and me)

I listened to the future with my back to her and smiled. I didn't want to disrupt my oldest daughter Beatrice as I sat and worked. My wife Amy sat next to her for support while Bea sat in front of the computer answering the virtual interview questions about attending a leadership camp in the summer. Her answers were effortless and delivered with a confidence I hadn't quite expected, but wasn't surprised to hear. 

Thirty minutes earlier I had picked her up at school and she was stressed about the interview for leadership camp. She'd had a long Monday at school that day (Monday's were always a long day for her), and like her father, was full of anxiety about the interview. But unlike her father, she talked through things, looking at the event to come from all vantage points, asking me questions about what they might ask her and how she should respond. So we role played on the way home and practiced her answers. 

Beatrice role played again with her mom when we got home. As I listened, I noted the differences between mom and dad; the fact that mom's demeanor was softer with empathy-laced words that embraced Bea like a supportive hug. 

It's not that I can't be that supportive, but I've always had sharper edges to my approach -- it's either this way or that way; yes or no; black or white. And that's okay, because we both love and care for our children and are supportive in our own ways that our children are grateful for and respond to. 

I listened to the future with my back to her and smiled. Beatrice has always aspired to be a leader, something I was dreadfully afraid of when I was 13 and in 7th grade. I could tell the interviewer was impressed with Bea's maturity and her thoughtful answers. I didn't even have to see my wife's smile to know how she felt, miles wider than mine, the warmth of her pride filling the room with celebratory love. 

She's the mom who's always there for our daughters. Always helping them with their school work and extracurricular activities. Always empowering them with social, emotional, and physical safety skills. Always helping them with friendship issues interpersonal relationships. Always knowing where all the stuff is when all of us ask where is all the stuff. Always making sure they eating healthy at home and everywhere we go. Always helping them understand their changing minds and bodies. Always helping me understand their changing minds and bodies. 

Amy is also always encouraging them to challenge themselves to learn, grow, and be the leaders they're becoming. Yes, I respond in kind, but she's the mom who does it all -- she's the inclusive executive leadership to my old-school middle management, and I love her for that. In fact, our youngest Bryce concurred at the end of our weekly family meeting on Mother's Day by saying, "Mom's the leader -- oh, and Dad does stuff too and takes care of the finance stuff."

Later in the day I said to Amy, "You are the leader, you know. Happy Mother's Day."

She kissed me and said, "We're a team," and I love her for that, too.

The week before Beatrice rocked her virtual leadership camp interview while we listened to the future and smiled. The future thanks to Mom (and me).  

The Hopeful Drive of Togetherness and Play

I remember when she said she'd score a goal this time. It was our second-to-last game during the last year I had coached recreational soccer in 2018. Our youngest daughter Bryce was on the team and she was confidently clear -- she would score a goal and the team would play well together. 

I also remember thinking, Would either of our girls will play soccer again next year? Will I ever coach again? No matter what, we're all going to finish out this year strong as a team, tears and all. Winning is great, the competitive side of me knows that all too painfully well. But in the end, it is how you play the game. Not how it plays you. 

Then that game started and something was different. The girls played better. They ran harder, went to the ball instead of waiting for it, controlled the ball, passed the ball – and they scored. A lot. After being pummeled all season, we actually won this game. Six goals to the other team's two. And one of those was Bryce's goal. She made it happen. They all made it happen. We subbed players in and out and coached them along the way, but this, this was all them.

And they knew it. They felt it. They lived it. They loved it. They had fun doing it, which was key. They celebrated every moment of it in every moment of it. That's the stuff we wanted them to encase in their still-growing hearts, the making it happen and making it their own, to access this playful confidence as needed throughout their lives.

Because we need it now more than ever, kids and adults alike. The year after that, both our daughters played, but I didn't coach. I was too busy at work and I traveled a lot in 2019. While I enjoyed my work travel, and my the work I did (and still do), I missed coaching Beatrice and Bryce and their teammates. 

Neither one played in 2020 due to the pandemic. Rec soccer wasn't available anyway, at least not the full regular seasons of the past. They did run a social distanced and masked practice clinic of sorts, but our girls didn't want to do that. They did both missed soccer, however; they've mentioned it multiple times during the past two years. They missed the friendships, the team building and the fun mostly. So did I.

This year I knew my work travel would be limited, so I decided to volunteer to coach again. Bryce wanted to play again as well, so I'll coach her U12 team of 11-year-old girls this fall. Our oldest Beatrice decided she wanted to be my assistant coach and give me a hand, and that made me smile. 

When I went to this year's coaches meeting to kick things off, the new local soccer club leaders were excited so many of us were volunteering to coach after such a difficult year and a half. The rec soccer coordinator walked us through everything we needed to know for the year. He had played both recreational soccer and competitive soccer in his formative years, and then played competitively in college. 

He talked about a specific a new methodology of play called Play-Practice-Play, developed by the U.S. Soccer Federation's Grassroots initiatives. It was a methodology I didn't learn when I volunteered to coach for four years from 2015 to 2018.  

According to what he shared and the U.S. Federation website: 

Play-Practice-Play is a Grassroots developed philosophy designed around a player-centered approach to coaching. Taking a player centered approach places the needs and motivations of the player at the forefront of a coach’s approach to coaching his or her players. The concept of Play-Practice-Play is to allow young players to experience the game and game-like situations as much as possible. This approach differs from traditional practices that may have children standing in lines, running laps and participating in drills that don’t resemble the game of soccer.

And that's when it hit me -- my personal philosophy of coaching in the first place was around teaching skills, team-building and having fun. And all of these things, especially the fun, comes from the play. That's why the favorite part of practices were the scrimmages, the playing. Every single time one of my teams played their hearts out -- win, lose or tie -- they were playing within all the multi-faceted meanings of the word. 

They knew it. They felt it. They lived it. They loved it. They celebrated every moment of it in every moment of it individually and together. It was all them; I just helped facilitate it.

So, Coach Kevin is going to give it a go again this year. Our sponsor is appropriately Kidpower, and at a time when too many adults feel less than inspirational, or inspired themselves, including myself, I look forward to the hopeful drive of togetherness and play. 

Running In Parallel

Hearts by Bryce

She kept saying she smelled propane. I didn’t smell it. Now, my wife Amy has Spidey sense (from the comic book superhero Spider-Man – the ability to sense things others can’t – like me), so I didn’t necessarily doubt she smelled something was wrong, but I didn’t smell any propane, so thought everything was fine.

When we hooked up our trailer camper to go on a little family trip, she again said she definitely smelled it. When we arrived at our camping destination and had begun setting up our trailer camper, she said it again.  

“No, really. I smell propane. And do you hear that humming?”

I did. Hear the humming, but I still didn’t smell propane. However, I did smell the faint scent of something burning, something acidic. That’s when I leaned over to one of the two 6-volt batteries that powered our trailer camper. 

There was the hum and there was the smell.

“What the hell?”

We quickly removed the battery covers and sure enough, the humming and smelly battery was also very hot. We then quickly disconnected the batteries and called Amy’s Uncle Brian. Brian is a retired power company lineman and extremely knowledgeable about all things electric, wiring, power and so much more beyond that (he’s helped us with many things). We had him on FaceTime and we walked through how the batteries were supposed to be connected in parallel so as to increase the amp-hour capacity with the voltage remaining the same. This way if there is a break in the circuit, the current is able to pass through the circuit through different paths. Things way above my pay-grade. I had disconnected them months earlier when we stored the camper to prevent what’s called parasitic draw (things on in the camper still drawing power even though it’s just sitting there). I set up solar trickle chargers for the battery as well that helped to keep them charged. 

But when we prepped the camper for our first trip of the year, I connected the batteries incorrectly, hence the smell and the humming. In all fairness to us, which even Brian admitted, the parallel connector cable was red. And red wire usually means positive, but that wasn't the case here, hence the parallel connection from negative on one battery to positive on the other that I didn't follow when reconnecting. Thank God for Spidey sense, teamwork and Uncle Brian. 

"Phew, thank goodness we figured that out and didn't fry our camper," I said.

"Yes, indeed. And now we know how to connect correctly," Amy said. 

"I took a picture as well!" 

"Good."

"Can we finish setting up camp now?" the girls cried out. 

After we reconnected the batteries correctly, all was well. Our daughters were off from school for a few days due to Presidents’ Day, and so it was time to take the camper out again for a little adventure. Plus it was Valentine’s Day weekend, and for us there was no better way to spend it than with our entire family – including our dog Jenny.

We went down to Paso Robles and Morro Bay and had so much fun. I got to show our girls where I spent many pre-teen and teenage summers (Morro Bay), while checking out some fun and funky hot springs in Paso Robles among other wine-tasting activities. For us, of course, not the kids. And then ending every night around our fire pit to make s’mores while the girls shared stories about growing up (dozens of them actually in the 10 and 12 years of their lives so far!). 

After nearly a year of pandemic, working from home, schooling from home, limiting family and friend interactions to our local pod few, we’re more grateful than ever that we’ve been safe and well. Last February we adopted our dog Jenny, which we never thought we would do until we involved the girls in the process of taking care of a dog. We also never thought we'd have a camper either, and that's also been a family affair, with Amy and I learning a whole bunch of new stuff in a short period of time. Still learning, too, especially since I almost caused a nuclear meltdown with our camper batteries. But we didn't, we keep reminding ourselves. We did not.

The operative world being we, because we are a team. Amy and I have always been a good team, even when nerves are frayed and I'm Daddy Goat Gruff. We don't always agree on how to get there, but we get there intact. We also both drive and back that dang trailer camper up like semi-pros now, and we ask for help when we need it (thank you, Uncle Brian!). We've also expanded our camping team to our two daughters. They pack most of their own stuff for trips, and help us pack as well. They also help us retract and extend the camper stabilizers and tongue jack, connect and disconnect the camper to the hitch ball joint, and more. Sure, Amy still does most of the list-making, planning, prepping and packing, and I still do a lot of the literal heavy lifting of packing and unpacking, camper connections and more. The girls offer to help and we include them in as much as we can. Except when they're off playing, or taking Jenny for a walk, because they are still kids. 

We are a team. This past year we've become exponentially closer – four hearts running in parallel – with our love a current continuously flowing through each other and back again no matter what we face individually or as a family. In other words, #BhivePower. 

This Was All Them, Again

"From first to last
The peak is never passed
Something always fires the light
That gets in your eyes
One moment's high
And glory rolls on by
Like a streak of lightning
That flashes and fades
In the summer sky..."

–Rush, Marathon

Three years coaching the oldest, one year coaching the youngest, and then I retired. Well, not really retired, I just couldn't do it again due to my work travel schedule. And that was a hard choice, because I really enjoyed coaching recreational soccer. I really enjoyed trying to instill skills, fun and teamwork with the girls I coached, especially our daughters.

It was big investment of time, and worth all of it as well, since I'm always learning myself -- learning how to communicate better with kids and adults alike. I won't sugarcoat -- everyone's an armchair quarterback coach -- and that was especially evident last year. Our girls' parents were always supportive and good-intentioned, and everyone had an idea on how to help the players get better, whether it be from the sidelines or bending my ear. I asked for counsel as well, knowing again I was constantly learning how and what to teach the team. 

That's no different this year; I'm now a spectator parent who coaches from the sideline, calling out where the girls should be, what they should do. I'm not the only one, of course, and we have only our girls best interest in mind. Kind of. Some of us are more competitive than others, and the fun, skills and teamwork gets filtered through the distorted lens of winning. Or at least trying to win.

Ah, the part about having fun. We tell them we want them to have fun, and then you play against teams that are more physical and more organized and more competitive and score on you over and over again. The old sports cliche of "it's not whether you win or lose -- it's how you play the game" sours quickly when you're getting pummeled. I saw it in their hot and tired faces every week last year, coaching my youngest Bryce and her team.

That feels like a long time ago now. As I wax nostalgic, the reality each year is that is only some of the girls will go on to playing competitive soccer, while many others will grow up and do other things, maybe fondly remembering the years they played rec soccer.

Except, many of them still are playing, including both our daughters. Thank you to the coaches who are volunteering their time this year. What's been fascinating to watch are the leaps they've made this year already, and the season has only just begun. Beatrice has come a long way in four years and she's now playing U12 with some pretty amazing athletes, girls who could be playing competitively. Her team played their first game recently and Bea told us she wanted to score a goal. This reminded me of Bryce last year on our way to our last game together.

We were so proud watching her play, only because she had always been tentative with aggressively going after the ball. Bea turned it on though, and while she didn't score, she gave her shots her best shot when she played forward. And her defensive play was pretty tight as well.

Bryce is playing U10 again, and some of the girls she played with last year on the team I coached and playing together again. Watching them I thought, "Wow, is this the same team?" Sure, there's still the moments of kicking the ball the wrong way, and clumping together on the field watching the ball go by while we scream (positively) to go after the ball, but there's so many more moments of putting skills and teamwork together underscored with fun. Competitive fun, especially when you score, like Bryce did, scoring the first goal of the first game. And then again, and again. That little lightning girl has got it going on.

And like the end of last year, this was all them, again, for both our girls. They owned it and the confidence and clarity of what they did shone brightly in their eyes. We watched them beam back at us as if saying, "Did you see that? I just did that." As a parent, there's no better feeling than watching your child shine with a self-awareness of accomplished progress that they can articulate with action, again and again.

How You Play the Game

"I got this feeling, 
I can't keep it down anymore
Bring me some healing,
Saint Cecilia, carry me home 
to your house of broken bones..."

–Foo Fighters, Saint Cecilia

Bryce, our youngest, trailed behind me eating her post-game popsicle. We headed to our car after another soccer game of full of injuries, tears and run-up scores. On us. Again.

We got in the car and drove to meet up with the Mama (what I lovingly call my wife) and Beatrice, our oldest. Bea had her game earlier, which we watched until we had to leave for our game.

"Bryce, you hustled today. Good job. It's so much fun watching you weaving in and out of those players while you dribble the ball up the field. Do you have fun while you're playing?"

"Yes, I do," she said. "Most of the time."

"When is it not fun?"

"When everyone is sad and the other team keeps scoring."

"Yep, I know. Some of those teams and bigger and older and more experienced than us."

"Yes, and sometimes they kick the ball really hard," Bryce said. I glanced at her in the rearview mirror and saw her grab her upper chest where a ball had hit her full force earlier in the game.

"Does it still hurt?"

"No," she said. "I'm okay."

We drove in silence for a few more minutes, and then I thought, Well, we can't do anything about the way the teams were put together, but at least most of our girls hustle most of the time.

"Bryce, thank you for playing. It's been fun being your coach. Only three more games left, so hang in there. Love you."

"Love you too, Daddy."

This is the fourth year I've coached recreational soccer -- the first three years I coached Beatrice's teams and this year I'm coaching Bryce's U10 team. They're a great group of girls, some of whom have played before, and many others who have not. Each year my goal is for the girls to learn some skills and improve their dribbling, passing, defending and scoring. To learn a basic understanding of the game and how to play together as a team. And to have fun.

That's been the harder part, though. The part about having fun. We tell them we want them to have fun, and then most of the other teams this year are bigger and more physical and more organized and score on us over and over again. The old sports cliche of "it's not whether you win or lose -- it's how you play the game" sours quickly when you're getting pummeled. I see it in their hot and tired faces every week, and I feel it as their coach, as does my assistant coach, the parents who help and all their parents who come out each week to watch.

We know it gets tough when the other team keeps scoring, but most of our girls hustle hard most of the time, and that’s all we can ask. We keep trying different drills and creative tactics to keep them growing and moving, and the parent encouragement certainly helps.

The reality is only some of the girls will go on to playing competitive soccer and many others will grow up and do other things, maybe fondly remembering the year or two they played soccer, or maybe not.

During this particular game, the one referenced above, the girl I had playing goalie the first part of the half was getting scored on, and what I didn't know was how upset she got because of it. Her dad had walked over to give me the heads up, that it was my call if I wanted to sub her out, and that's what I did. I put Bryce in as goalie for the rest of the half, a position she's enjoyed playing.

The girl who had been playing goalie came off the field with tears streaming down her face. Her voice cracked and she struggled for breath because of her intense crying.

"I let the team down," she said over and over again. "I let the team down. I'm sorry."

We told her she did not, that she worked hard out there and did her best. She settled down and then I got her back out there. Later in the game, the same girl got tripped up by the other team and went down hard. Everyone took a knee and I ran out on the field. I got her to stand up and she favored her right ankle, so I tried to maneuver her so her arm was around my neck and I could walk her off. But it didn't work, so I just picked her up and carried her off the field.

But I'm nobody's hero; all I could think about as I carried her off was how I had let the team down. That my focus on having fun wasn't serving them well. That maybe we should've practiced more. Drilled more. Played the best girls at their strength positions instead of rotating them to play both offense and defense to learn the game. That I shouldn't have missed those two games when I ran the local event and then had to travel for work.

Except, these girls are 8 and 9 years old, and this is recreational soccer. The crush of competitive life will come soon enough, so I shook off my self-doubt and finished the game with pride, even with witnessing yet again their hot and tired faces. I grounded myself in the reasons I've volunteered to do this year after year: to coach my own girls and to teach all of the team members a basic understanding of the game and how to play together as a team.

And to have fun. At least a little fun.

After the game I got a note from one of the parents that read:

You're doing a great job, and the kids are doing a great job!  They are really having fun together, they have good team spirit, they never give up, and they are all learning and improving! I know it's been challenging to get lined up quite a few teams that seem to be composed of quite a few older and/more experienced players than our group, but you keep things very positive for the kids and all of us. We are super lucky to have you!

I needed that. I'm not ashamed to say that I really, really needed that. I don't know if either of our girls will play again next year, or if I'll coach again, but we're all going to finish out this year strong as a team, tears and all. Winning is great, the competitive side of me knows that all too painfully well. But in the end, it is how you play the game. Not how it plays you.

Most of Us Together

Number 9 ran off the field at halftime and yelled at me.

"Dad, why didn't you take me out earlier! I'm really tired!"

She panted after every other word. Her face glowed red. Her hair was wet and matted to her forehead and the sides of her face.

"Great job, Beatrice," I said. "You are being aggressive and going after that ball!"

"But I'm tired!"

I patted her on the back. "I know, so take a break and drink some water. You're doing awesome."

"Thank you," she said. Then she was past it, eating fresh strawberries, the last halftime snack of our final game.

In the next moment, one of the team parents approached me. Her daughter was sick and had already thrown up twice on our sidelines. But that's not why she came over to talk.

"You know, you should tell the girls they can help our goalie and not just stand around and watch," she said.

I took a "zen" beat inside my head before I spoke. This wasn't an unreasonable request; she had the best intentions. In fact, the parents of all our players were really good all season, one of whom was my assistant coach, another one who also helped, and a few others who had soccer experience and made great suggestions throughout the season.

But I took a "zen" beat because it had been a long season. Sure, we weren't supposed to keep score, this is recreational soccer, and I had stopped keeping score early on when we lost every game by a significant number of goals. Game after game. Week after week. For someone who grew up highly competitive -- me -- and coming off of a winning season last year, it had been a long season this year. And yet I tried to keep my head up, because even with this last game, there was always a next time.

I put my hand on the parent's shoulder. "I understand. I do. I just want them to score for the first time in this final game. Or just pass consistently to one another. Or just dribble and drive the ball down the field. Or just kick the ball straight and farther than five yards. You know, those little things."

She smiled at my mild sarcasm and attempt at humor. "I know, but they really could help their goalie out so they don't keep getting the score run up on them."

Sigh.

"Got it. Thank you," I said.

"Coach, you just stepped in the throw up," one of the other players pointed out to me.

I looked down.

Sigh.

Maybe it was me. My job as coach for a U10 recreational team was to help them learn some soccer skills and some teamwork, regardless of having boys or girls, and in this case, it was my third year coaching our oldest daughter and an all-girl teams. But from the first practice to this very last game, it felt like some of the girls just didn't really want to play soccer. That they only wanted to goof off with each other instead. That's okay. They're kids.

Maybe it was me. There had been a lot of work travel this season for me and I missed some practices and one of our games. And then there was my hospitalization and disruptive infection that scared the bejesus out of me and the Mama (what I affectionately call my wife).

Maybe it was me, because as the season went on, it got tougher to inspire myself, much less the girls. Are they getting any of this? I thought again and again. After each game the Mama countered my fuming by encouraging me to keep encouraging them. I had the same conversations with my coaches and they encouraged me to stay positive and stay the course.

"They are playing better today, Coach," my assistant coach said.

"Yep," I said. "They are."

That's the thing -- positive improvements aren't always evident -- they are more subtle than that, like the incremental slow-growth of a coral reef. One minute there's nothing but barren shallows, and then 10,000 minutes later there's a layer of lovely colors that are alive and well.

And in the final game, there were all the lovely colors:

• Better dribbling for some.
• Better change-of-direction and ball control for others.
• Better passing to teammates for others.
• Better aggressive going after the ball for many of them.
• Even better defense helping the goalie keep the ball away from our goal.

And while the number of shots we got at the opponents' goal were again few and far between, there were those who played hard and seemed inspired to do so, had the "fire" as my assistant coach put it, like they really wanted to play well, individually and together, encouraging each other to keep going, even for the few who didn't want to.

Yes, it had been a long season, and besides being her coach and her dad, I was especially proud of our oldest, Beatrice, as she had truly improved over this last season (and the two seasons before this one). She wanted to play, liked to play, went after the ball and got it done. She even wanted to practice kicking the ball around in the backyard, and before this last game asked to play in the winter recreational league. I never thought I'd see that happen.

After the last game we had a team party, and as we were all leaving, one of my other players walked up to me and game me a hug.

"Thank you, Coach," she said.

I hugged her back and said, "No, thank you."

One after another most of the girls thanked me. One even wrote me a nice note. Maybe in the end it wasn't me; it was most of us together. And that should make us all feel like winners.

Because There's Always a Next Time

“Be a winner. Stand for something. Always have class, and be humble.”

—John Madden, Head Coach, Oakland Raiders (1969-78)

After the first game, one of the parents said, "Headline reads: The Tigers get pounced!"

I laughed. I knew he was kidding. Kind of. But it still stung because I was the head coach. The leader of a recreational all girls soccer team. The one who looks forward to teaching soccer fundamentals and teamwork and having fun, fun, fun no matter what level the girls are at. That's why everyone always gets a chance to play every game and rotate positions throughout the season.

And it's always a big plus to have really involved parents that feel the same way, even after the other team runs up the score on you.

"No, the headline reads: The Tigers play hard and have fun!" I replied.

He laughed. Kind of. Maybe a little uncomfortably. After he walked away I realized that not one girl on our team asked me what the final score was. I wasn't sure what that meant, if anything, but the year before half the team asked me each and every game.

But we won many games the year before. Most of them actually. We're really not supposed to keep score, nor keep a tally of wins and losses, but I still do. I'm humble about it, though. But I just can't help it either way -- I grew up playing more competitively even at an early age. The same age as the girls on our U10 soccer team, eight and nine year olds. There were more girls who'd played multiple years prior to last season, with a few going on to play competitively.

This year our team is full of raw talent, with fewer of them having played prior to this year. And that's okay. That's what I wanted. Why I wanted to coach starting three years ago. Why I now have two other amazing coaches this year to help me. I had only played soccer in junior high school decades earlier, but I knew that no matter what sport our girls wanted to play, if they wanted to play, and if it was something I could actually coach. It was stretch for me considering my sport was American football, not the rest of the world's fútbol.

I'm all about the stretch assignment, however. All about pushing myself to learn something new while helping to instill new skills in others including personal leadership and teamwork. It my sound a little campy to the cynics out there, but it's true. And because our oldest Beatrice wanted to give soccer a go a few years ago -- and still wants to play three years later -- that's a win in my book.

Our youngest Bryce is now playing for the first year. I'm not coaching her team, because I can't do both, and I can't always watch her if my games are going on at the same time, but I'm so excited to watch her own raw talent get refined as well.

Like our oldest, who doesn't have the same affinity to sports like soccer as our youngest does, but who also after three years of a big heart and who works hard. And it's certainly paid off -- watching her dribble and drive and defend and shoot like it's nobody's business makes us really proud. Makes me really proud being her coach and her father.

Because that's what it's all about for me -- for every single girl on the team. Which is why it was hard to hear in the last game the following:

"Coach, can you tell the team not to give me a hard time? It was just a mistake I made. Everybody makes them."

This coming from another play who had accidentally kicked the ball into our own goal, thinking she was kicking it to our goalie.

So during halftime, I reminded the team to cheer each other on when we do something good and to support each other when we don't. That we'll get it the next time. Because we'll always make mistakes and because there's always a next time.

Stand for something. Always have class, and be humble.

That's right. There's always a next time, which if one of the hardest lessons we have to continuously learn, both as kids and adults. We may lose every single game, but in the end the headline will always read:

"Tigers are winners!"

On the Field in Front of Me

Photo courtesy of Paul Turner

I couldn't believe it; we'd been scouted. Just minutes before our game, during warm up, one of my player's parents approached me to relay that information.

"Guess what."

"What?"

"One of the hyper-competitive parents from the other team scouted us last week."

"Are you serious?"

"Yep. Supposedly they're undefeated and they wanted to find out who our strongest players are."

"Wow. We're in a recreational league. What the heck? They scouted us?"

"I know, right? Well, we haven't lost one yet either, so let's give them a run for their money, coach."

Let's give them a run for their money. As I called out our starting players to take the field, I realized I wasn't that surprised. I never would've scouted another team prior to playing them, not at this level, but I've always been pretty competitive myself. Every week we played I kept the running score of our games on my clipboard, and every week we chalked one up in the win column, except for one tie and no losses. That was something I was very proud of, but tried to temper during each game so as not to get the girls to caught up in the gut-wrenching angst of pure unadulterated competition -- some of them would there in a few years anyway. So, except for posting in our team website after the games for the parents benefit, I kept my coaching cool.

The game started and immediately we were schooled. Their team had crisper passing, better dribbling, tighter shooting and a stronger defense. Obviously they were drilled over and over again on these soccer fundamentals, and they obviously played a starter roster and only subbed in when needed. They quickly went up 2 goals to none well before the first half was done.

And that gut-wrenching competitive angst blew up inside me. I kept it contained, thankfully, but I second guessed my entire approach to coaching this scrappy yet talented U10 recreational soccer team. Yes, we drilled the basics during practice, and we scrimmaged together every single week. And yet, my focus has been teamwork and having fun, fun, fun no matter what level their girls are at. That's why everyone got a chance to play every game and rotated positions throughout the season. I subbed the girls in constantly through each half, sometimes because the forwards needed a break, but also to ensure everybody played as much as possible. There are 12 girls on the team and only eight players can play at any given time.

Momentum is a malleable thing, however. At some point late in the first half, we took it in our hands -- and our feet -- and made it our own.

Something changed on the field. Something I'd seen already occasionally during the season but only now recognized it for what it really was: pure, unadulterated teamwork. The girls settled down and it was like their individual identities were blotted out. They dribbled, passed, shot and defended like the other team, except more effortlessly, as if each girl were connected to the other, elementals on fire that scorched the earth beneath their tireless feet.

And they were having a blast doing it all.

Once inside the second half, the score became 2-1, and then 2-2. The entire second half we dominated the field and kept the ball dangerously near our opponents goal over and over and over again. The other team was getting tired. We were just getting started.

Blink. Another score! 2-3! We took the lead with only minutes left!

Wait, what? Offsides? Noooooooooo!!!

No. No. No. No. No. Crap! Keep it together, Coach. Mercy me.

Minutes later the referees blew their whistles and the game was over. It might as well been the end of every underdog sports movie I'd ever seen in my lifetime. In that moment everything I had intended to instill in my team had come to be on the field in front of me. And it gave me hope in an ever-changing world, a world going darker by the day. It gave me hope that our children may someday help this crazy friggin' world figure out how to play like a true team and celebrate together all the fragile freedoms we've fought so hard to secure and keep, that now seem to be slipping away.

Yes, I really did get all that from this game and I know what I'll be thankful for this Thanksgiving. Thank you, girls. You are the future looking bright.

On Happily Doing Their Own Fancy Dances

“All I can say is that my life is pretty plain
I like watchin' the puddles gather rain…”

—Blind Melon, No Rain

We went out into the rain three times over three hours. Each time wearing our rain jackets and our rain boots, Bryce and me with socks on and Bea without. They bounded up and down our one-way street flooded gutter while I watched and called out when cars approached. They jumped and splashed and smiled and laughed. I jumped and splashed and smiled and laughed.

All of us stir crazy, yes, and the fact that our girls just love playing outside in the rain, the first big rain of our ever warmer and drier California dreamin'-scape. The Mama was away doing a Kidpower workshop, so with Daddy daycare in full swing, and the living room floor already littered with nearly every toy in the house, playing outside on a rainy day was the only way to go. We also made milk carton boats to sail down the gutter and that was a big hit (and something fun I remember doing when I was their age).

And as I watched my girls bound and splash and float their boats, I smiled big over and over, because so far so good with them "dancing as if no one is watching." Plus, not caring even if someone was. Each girl differentiating further from one another every single day with the one common thematic thread of being who they are, of being comfortable in their own still pliable skin. As we all know, that is always a work in progress, and yet, they're already light years ahead of my struggles at the same age.

Proudly the Mama has also launched a Girl Scout troop recently, for both Daisies and Brownies based on the ages of our girls and their school friends. For those who don't know, the Girl Scout mission is all about building courage, confidence and character and to help make the world a better place (fun facts: the majority of the women in the U.S. Senate and the House of Representatives were Girl Scouts, and every female American astronaut to date has been a Girl Scout -- I did not know).

All these things weren't lost on me recently when work traveling, first going to the Rock and Roll Hall of Fame in Cleveland, Ohio, and then a quick trip to Las Vegas -- all full of people, women and men alike, making their own way while flying their own freak flags. Of course I'm not condoning the debauchery, just the spirit of individuality, entrepreneurial rebellion and celebrating inclusivity and teamwork (like my favorite band -- can you guess who that is?).

There's always an edge to finding your own way and becoming yourself, then being your best self and sustaining it. That's the edge we hope we're helping our girls with. I thought about that as I sat eating dinner overlooking the Vegas strip, watching the buzzing throngs of crazy fly by. As I ate and watched, some of my favorite rock songs played overhead and Blind Melon's "No Rain" came on, a big hit from 1992/93.

Not hearing that song for some time prompted me to later watch the music video online, because I vaguely remembered it tell a story of a "bee girl" doing her own dance and being made fun of. She wanders aimlessly alone until she finds a beautiful grassy knoll under blue sky where many other bee people are happily doing their own fancy dances -- and happily joins in their fun.

As I watched it I thought, Bring on the rain, baby. Bring on the rain. #BhivePower indeed.

Why We Say Let's Let the Pearls Play

Her question caused me angst. Not a lot of it, because I already knew my answer three days before I told her. It was the same answer the Mama gave as well. But I still found myself a little torn as to how to respond.

The question was this: "Daddy, the birthday party I was invited to is the same time as our soccer game on Saturday. Can I go to the birthday party instead?"

The very first thing I thought was this: Well, no. You need to go to your soccer game.

I didn't say it, but I thought it. More than twice because of a wrinkle. I mean, my reactive response came from a place of instilling commitment and teamwork in Beatrice, of teaching her that she could be letting the team down by not showing up to play. A place that I was reminded of more than a few times in my own childhood.

I was older, in 4th grade, and was pushed by my crazy step-father to play basketball (not the man I ended up calling Pop), a sport that I wasn't very good at compared to baseball and football. In fact, I wasn't even very good at playing HORSE, the creative shooting challenge game played with a basketball for people who can, well, shoot baskets and actually make them.

However, he used to be good at playing basketball, and so I was pushed everyday after school to practice on the driveway basketball hoop -- free-throws, layups, hooks, jump shots -- you name it, I was pushed to practice it. It didn't really make me any better and I hated every minute of it (for more reasons than just the game itself).

My basketball swan song came at the end of the season when as a "not really a power" forward I scored five points -- two baskets, one of which was an alley-oop blindly from behind, and one free-throw. 

That was it. Baseball, football and even soccer in junior high ended up being so much more fulfilling.

Now, I/we didn't push Beatrice to play anything. We have always been about letting our girls decide if they want to trying something, and of course encouraging them to try things, and then if they want to keep doing any of those things, we'll be there for all of it (Bryce loves swimming and dancing).

Bea actually wanted to play soccer, with the boys at first, just like when she played T-ball, and then conceded to be on an all-girls team in U8 soccer. Beatrice is definitely better than me in soccer than I was in basketball and she really gives everything a go that she tries. Let's just say she's got a lot of heart, loves her teammates and friend, and loves playing hard and having fun. 

And then there's the part where I'm the team's coach. Yes, that part. That's the wrinkle. So when she asked to go to the birthday party instead of our soccer game, I was a little torn to say the least. But like I said, I already knew my answer, and when I talked with the Mama about it and our response was united: instilling commitment and teamwork in both Beatrice and Bryce has already started and will be years in the making, like the pearls all our children will hopefully become.

She may never want to play sports long-term; maybe she'll be an engineer; or maybe she'll do both. Who knows. Both girls'  lives will be difficult and competitive enough as it is as they get older -- especially being females. Plus, I'm dealing with an age group who loves to chase each other, do cart wheels on the field during games, pick clumps of grass and throw them at each other, and give each other hugs. So there's that.

Either way Bea's in first grade and only seven years old and has come a long way, baby. That's why we say let's let the pearls play.