Every organized event that requires me to mingle with other parents simply because our kids have been tossed together turns me into a rather judgmental jerk. I’ll admit, though, I’m the one who eagerly pushes my kids to join a team sport after the long, dreary winter that leaves everyone in a cabin-fever daze. Go ahead and roll your eyes at my self-righteousness when I extol the benefits of team sports.
Honestly, team sports can be great for kids. They learn valuable skills, build confidence, and enjoy some fresh air, even if it’s pouring rain. And yes, they sometimes forge friendships along the way.
Beneath my somewhat arrogant facade lies an introvert who truly struggles to engage in these social situations. It’s not the games themselves that bother me; it’s the awkward social experiment that unfolds when a group of kids is gathered, and their parents are expected to stay nearby. The silence that inevitably turns into forced small talk about the weather, flower types, or snack schedules drives me a bit insane. If you listen closely, you might hear the sound of desperate attempts to find something—anything—that might make this hour pass a little quicker.
Here’s the kicker: I’m pretty good at pretending to be extroverted. I can easily say hello and ask how your day is going, all while wishing I could retreat into my own thoughts. I can be nice to your child, even while silently fuming that you’ve left me to supervise her because she’s playing with mine. I’ll offer snacks that I wasn’t even responsible for bringing because it’s not your child’s fault you can’t check your email (while scrolling through your phone). I can create conversation where none exists, and even though I typically have a chronic case of Resting Bitch Face, I somehow come off as friendly and approachable on the soccer field.
But deep down, I’m not really that person. I purposefully sit away from the other parents, arranging my gear around me to create a barrier. Yes, I know that makes me look snobbish. Sometimes, I pretend my phone is way more fascinating than it actually is, just to avoid interaction. Because honestly, please don’t make me engage. Yet, the other parents still approach me, asking questions when all I want to do is accept the flowers from my child and enjoy watching the game.
On any given night, I find myself on the left side with a parent who shouts at their child like he’s competing in the World Cup. I silently count my blessings for my sunglasses as she tells him to “suck it up” after he gets hit in the face with a ball. On my right sits the mom who insists on telling me how she knows the coach, and how her child has an iPad, and how he eats a lot, yet she’s puzzled why she signed him up for soccer since he’s not great at it.
Inside, I’m screaming, “GO AWAY!” But outside, I’m nodding and plastering on that fake smile my partner recognizes as, “Someone, please save me.” I cheer for their kids, hoping my “Good try!” is louder than the overly enthusiastic mom’s screams. I’d love to remind them that we don’t even keep score at this age, but I hold back because I hate repeating myself to adults. I find myself offering snacks to nearby children, smiling as I’m teased for being overly prepared. I bite my tongue when they comment on a player’s “terrible parenting,” especially after hearing them tell their kid to stop acting like a girl.
Every week, it’s the same routine. Sometimes I manage to escape the area. Other times, my daughter drags me to the bathroom. Sure, I act like it’s a chore to trek to the port-a-potties, but really, I just want to frolic in the dandelion-filled field. It’s a smelly yet ironic relief from the endless chatter on the sidelines. Occasionally, my husband arrives just in time to be my buffer, and I cling to him like a life raft when he does.
Once the kids wrap up with a mutual “good game,” I gather our belongings, trying not to appear too eager. I remind them to collect their gear and offer to help the coaches, who usually decline. As we head off the field, someone inevitably calls out, “See you next week, Jamie!”
Oh, great.
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In summary, being a “soccer mom” often feels like a daunting challenge filled with social awkwardness and unexpected encounters. Despite my introverted nature, I find ways to navigate these situations while still supporting my kids, even if it means embracing the chaos of parenthood.