(For the last several months, I have posted about Eric and our family in a blog dedicated to Eric's mother. I will try to parse some of the posts pertaining to him into this blog at a later date.)
Eric began playing soccer almost a year ago. He and I enjoyed the Saturday morning drives out to the isolated sports complex, nestled among the quiet, open hills that mark Seoul's southern border. Sometimes his mother would accompany us, and usually the hour of instruction was followed by a shared meal or a much-anticipated fruit smoothie treat.
His teachers are two young women--both former national soccer team players--that Eric appears fond of. And the routine of rudimentary drills followed by a free-flowing scrimmage is exactly the blend of discipline and abandon that I approve of.
Though the instruction is entirely in Korean, Eric gamely adapts to the gestures and responses of his peers as well as to the well-intentioned "advice" of his doting parents.
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After a winter lull, the new season began and a crop of fresh kids joined the class while the older boys graduated to the next level. Eric, still 5 years old, became one of the class veterans and was expected to set an example with his skills and behavior.
Eric is at his best when given a challenging task and he enjoys any opportunity to perform in front of an appreciative audience. There is something of the ham in him (like his father!) and this is the reason that he has developed a passion for playing goalie. In his first ever stint between the posts, he made a particularly acrobatic dive-save that resulted in a spontaneous eruption of applause and impressed murmuring among the parents. I saw it more as a positive sign of Eric's physical boldness and aggression rather than strictly prowess. From that day, however, he would always at least volunteer to be goalie for a half.
Lately, in overseeing his progress, I've become mildly concerned about his tactical understanding and his seeming attachment to glory over competence. He sometimes plays far off the ball in anticipation of the play but also, perhaps, to avoid physical confrontation. He sometimes lingers behind at his own goal, even when he is not the goalie, even when the play is at the other end of the pitch. He is often distracted and more interested in hijinx than in the game itself. This is all par for 5-years old I realize, but since he's here to learn and improve, I have to sometimes exhort him to focus on the ball, the game or on simply making a sincere effort.
As a career mediocre athlete (or "specialist" as I like to call myself), I am painfully aware of the undue burdens that frustrated parents can inflict on their kids what with the vicarious living and the unfulfilled dreams of glory and all. This awareness prevents me from becoming either too emotionally invested in Eric's play or too vociferous in my field-side exhortations. I was kept in check recently by Eric's exasperated plea, "Daddy, stop talking or I can't do anything!" Well said, son. Bad daddy.
Still. I watch for signs of his development, both mental and physical. I can't help but extrapolate clues to his future emotional well-being based on his desire to please and on his determination to meet challenges. It's not that I want him to be masterful (though that would be fine); I'm looking for signs of his growing mastery over himself.
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Last week was Eric's best all-around game ever, reconfirming for me the primal importance of play in children's development. (And parents's too, I guess.)
They started the scrimmage defending the goal closest to where the parents sit, so I was able to offer Eric some instruction and encouragement. Mostly, as I talked with another mother, I tried to limit my comments to "Pay attention," "Follow the ball" and polite applause for good plays.
As the game wore on, Eric fell back into his routine of lingering by his own goal as a defensive stopper, despite his father's urging to join the rush. On this day, however, Eric was mostly vindicated and made several key stops and clearances, including one against a teacher. I applauded these gritty plays loudly.
It also occurred to me that his reticence in leaving the goal area might also be because of his lack of faith in the quality of his teammate's goaltending. Though he has never openly voiced frustration or disapproval, Eric is a good goaltender and I think he genuinely does not want to see his teammate feel pressured or exploited. He will offer a kind pat on the back or eagerly chase after the ball for his goalie. I think now that that this is just his way of showing care. A kind of budding leadership.
On a corner kick, I again urged Eric to join the play and this time he complied. After a mad scramble in front, Eric's foot was the last to strike the ball, knocking it past the scrum and into the net. An acrobatic celebration followed with Eric cheering himself and running to high-five the teacher and his teammates. (Where did he get the inspiration for celebrating his goal with a cartwheel?) I was muted in my praise and only applauded, not wanting to make a scene in front of the other parents. There would be time enough for flattering words on the drive home.
Before the end of the half, Jinu, Eric's friend and the best player on either team, also scored to tie the game.
It was a seesaw second half with chances for both sides. Eric again played a vital role as fullback/sweeper boldly meeting the other team's offensive forays. With time running out, Eric's team was pressuring the goal right in front of where the parents sat. After a deflected shot, the ball caromed towards the sideline. Eric made a sliding kick at an awkward angle just inside the penalty area to save the ball. The trajectory of his shot propelled the ball in the opposite direction, past the stunned keeper and towards the far corner of the net.
GOOOOOOAAAALL!
Pandemonium. Eric scored both goals for his team in a 2-1 victory. More importantly, his stellar play elevated his father's nervous apprehension and greedy ambition into a proper reverence for the arena of self-knowledge that sport affords.
I am immensely pleased. Not because Eric was singled out with a sticker for his outstanding play, and not because his efforts were rewarded by goals or victory, or because he was able to savor success's false twin: accolade.
No, I am pleased and grateful because I see that Eric has thrown himself--recklessly, earnestly and whole-heartedly--into another creative endeavor. I am especially appreciative of his dogged determination to overcome his father's woeful lack of faith with a cartwheel and a shout! And I am left to admire his enthusiastic devotion for his friends and teachers, and applaud his dramatic dives and stumbles around the pitch.
Eric Kang: My Most Virtuous Prayer.
