I am the last person on earth that I thought would ever be a children’s advocate of any kind, however, there is a serious issue terrorizing this country’s kids. Soccer Dads.
I live next door to a community park. The good news is that the west side of the house has large windows facing the Red Rocks mountains. Unfortunately, my immediate view is a little league soccer field. On Saturday mornings, you see a blur of youths dressed in uniforms of primary colors kicking a fat white ball around on the grass. There’s always a wall of parents protecting their children, cheering them on. At least, that’s how things appear at first glance.
This morning I decided to go for a jog around the park. It’s sunny today, and the kind of winter weather we all moved to Vegas for (unlike the past 2 months which has been the kind of winter weather people on the East Coast try to escape). As I neared one of the ongoing soccer games, I noticed a line of dads watching their little boys play. These kids are no larger than my cats, and when they ran on their tiny little legs, they looked cute, like midgets running wild. I was feeling good about myself, here I am, Saturday morning, out of bed, jogging, burning calories, doing fine things for my heart and building bone mass by exercising, I was thinking, “this is a good day.” But then I stopped dead in my tracks when I heard something that should only be heard behind closed doors and after downing a fifth of Jack Daniels. One of the dads yelled at a kid, who evidently screwed up. “YOU LITTLE SON-OF-A-BITCH! YOU'RE USELESS!”
I’m not a parent and I’m not even into sports. I think it’s okay if I am watching Fox News (as if I would do that!) and suddenly blurt out, after seeing an image of W on TV, “G@#d!)*m *$@r.” That’s one thing. Calling your kid useless in front of his team and everyone’s parents is another.
I used to go to the Ole Miss Rebel games with my own father and can honestly say he threw the F word at players a time or ten thousand. But, I’m relieved to say, he never called me “useless” or “a little bitch.” I think the worst thing he ever said to me was, “Can’t you do better than a D in math?” And when I made a C the next semester, he actually told me he was proud of me. Yeah, I didn’t do so hot in math.
I can’t single out this one hot-headed dad, because right when I was working up a personal rage against him, another kid did something wrong and another dad threw his hands into the air and YELLED AT THE TOP OF HIS LUNGS, “OH MY GOD! WHAT IN THE HELL ARE YOU DOING?”
Jesus H. Christ. These boys are going to grow up to love Mommy more than Daddy. Although I didn’t see any mommies react to the daddies' outburst. They sat in low lawn chairs and talked to each other, laughing about something mundane like the way the guys get so worked up at the kids over this silly game.
It wasn’t just those two dads who lost it. It was every dad standing in this line. Obviously, this was where the losing team’s fathers hung out, because they were all very unhappy with their kids. In the course of a few minutes, each father had a fit over something his kid did. Of course, here’s a bad thought, maybe it wasn’t their own kid they were having a fit over, but someone else’s. That means that the kids’ fathers didn’t come to their defense. Perhaps they thought the verbal beating was justified.
Behind every bad child is a lousy parent. I don’t know how these kids act in public or at home, but I do believe they are going to be in some serious need of therapy pretty soon, if not right now. Forget the after-game pizza. Get those boys a nice Jewish shrink.
The game is over. The parents and kids have gone home. The day is still beautiful. My cat, Sammy Davis, Jr. sleeps next to the fireplace, one paw covers his eyes to block the sun streaming in through the window. Earlier, I fed him too much and he threw up on my favorite throw blanket. “Bad boy,” I scolded him, but I didn’t have any venom in me. I fed him too much. He threw up. That’s what I get. I’m a parent in a way. This cat depends on me for everything except fur balls. I bet I love him more than most parents love their kids, at least more than those soccer dads love their kids. I can only hope that those boys get the chance to one day stop kicking soccer balls, and instead get the opportunity to kick their daddies in the balls. Both parties deserve it.
