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“Parents against the kids!” My daughter’s soccer coach yelled. He beckoned us from the comfort of the bleachers. “Come choose your spot on the field.”

That Saturday morning, I had arrived at the soccer field prepared to cheer for my daughter’s team. The girls warmed up with stretches and practice on the field while they waited the allotted twenty minutes for the other team to arrive. Her team won by forfeit because the other team didn’t show. The coach decided to use the remaining time for practice. He proposed an exhibition game, kids vs. parents. I hesitated. Would it be acceptable to compete against my daughter? What if the parents won? Worse, what if we lost?

Playing Against My Daughter

If I had been quicker onto the field I wouldn’t have ended up in the one position refused by everyone – the goalie. The whistle blew and for three comfortable minutes we had the ball, took it down the field and scored. Their goalie threw the ball back in play. My team stole the ball at midfield and scored again. I felt more confident now, watching the action, alert and ready to fend off any goal attempts.

Suddenly: break away, the kids had the ball. They faked out my teammates and stampeded straight at me. I’m not sure if I raised my arms to block the shot or the move was an involuntary action to protect my face. The ball bounced off my arms. I didn’t know where the ball landed; I just hoped it was far away from me.

A teenager towered over me, her leg coming in for the kick. Belatedly, I realized the ball was on the ground between my legs. I imagined everything that could go wrong. I could dive for the ball and get kicked in the teeth or I could kick the ball and have the girl kick me on my unprotected shins. I could trip on the ball and fall. I might have to take time off from work. I might have to go the emergency room and try to explain my injuries. Winning wasn’t important enough to take the risk, so I froze.

The girl kicked the ball deep into the net. Goal. Both teams backed away from my goal box. Since it was an exhibition game and just practice, the referee asked me if I wanted him to put the ball back into play for me. Didn’t he think I was capable of kicking or throwing a ball?

Defense improved on both teams. I was determined not to give the girls a chance to score off me again. Instead of trying to stop the ball, my strategy was to kick an incoming ball as hard as I could. The whistle blew at thirty minutes. We didn’t have time to play the second half, because another game was scheduled for the field. The referee called the game. Parents win 2-1.

Friendly Competition, Or Ego?

I was elated with the win; even with our children’s constant practice we could still maintain parent superiority. Following that first thought, my mood swung to guilt for my competitive streak fueling a need to win instead of boosting my daughter’s ego.

I tried to explain or rationalize my need to win to my subconscious. My father competed with me in whatever sport I chose. He pushed me to do my best, if he could long jump five feet, I strove to jump at least five and one half. If he considered jumping off a higher ski jump, I jumped first. Yes, I was pushing my daughter to do her best.

But still, the question taunted my psyche – should I feel guilt or elation? Was it success or negative reinforcement?

What Real Sportsmanship Means

My daughter solved my dilemma on the way home. She teased me about the game. “I’m surprised your team scored at all!” From her point of view, the kids almost always had the ball and the parents had a hard time keeping up — but, she did give me credit for stopping a couple shots. “You looked so confused. You didn’t even know where you were. I thought you were going to drop to the ground, curl up in a ball and bury your head in your arms. Lucky we let you win.”

Let us win!?

That day, My daughter taught me what sportsmanship really means – respect is more important than winning and the ultimate display of respect is criticism. My performance on the field may have gained her admiration, but I still had things to work on.

I think I’ll choose to stay on the bench from now on, however; quitting with a perfect record is better for the ego.

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