In the town where I grew up, kids started playing team sports early. Every spring Saturday for a few years when I was very young, I was dropped off at a random field, made to chase after a ball, then rewarded with orange slices and a juice box. I have no memory of whether or not I enjoyed this.
Mostly, I remember that I was on a team that won a fair amount, but I didn’t actually play much during games, and consequently, was well aware that I wasn’t very “good” at team sports
I also remember that while the thwack of a well-placed kick against the ball’s leather casing was very satisfying, so was lying down in the sweet freshness of the newly green grass, something that was frowned upon in both games and practices.
Meanwhile, my tendency to overthink and panic when the ball was heading toward me, or equally, to be watching a bird in a nearby tree and forget about the ball altogether, meant that when I was given the choice to no longer play team sports, I accepted.
I rediscovered team sports in college while fulfilling the physical education requirement, and to my surprise, I had fun, but after the requirement was fulfilled, I never seriously considered playing team sports again.
Fast forward 20 years, plus a major move to a rural area, and my attitude has changed once again. Here, kids aren’t running around in team uniforms at age five. In fact, there aren’t any structured activities for very young children.
There aren’t a lot of structured activities for adults either, at least compared to what you might find in an area with a larger population of humans — which means a large portion of our socializing happens at the sporting events of middle-grade to high school-age children.
If that sounds strange, I know how you feel. When I first moved here, I was confused when everyone — even people without kids — would go to football, basketball and volleyball games.
Granted, in a town as small as ours, so many people are related to one another that any given game will probably include a couple of cousins or a grand-niece, but the significance runs deeper than that. Visiting with old friends and neighbors while cheering on our town’s beloved children keeps us connected to each other.
These games serve as social glue.
I figured all of this out before I had children of my own, and therefore have watched a lot more kids’ sports during the last decade than I ever dreamed I would. And it’s also meant that now that my own kids are old enough to join a team, I’ve actively encouraged them to do so … something I never expected.
Yesterday, there was a “triangular” at the school for the third through sixth-grade boys’ basketball teams. It was the first really cold day of the season. The icy wind was blowing sleet and snow sideways from north to south across the school parking lot, and we bent down, shielding our faces as we scurried to the door.
Inside, the gym was warm, and the smell of buttered popcorn wafted in from the concession stand in the cafeteria. People lumbered up the bleachers with winter coats, infant car seats, stadium seats for the old folks and coloring books for the toddlers. Neighbors chatted while big kids passed around the babies.
My son’s team won their first game with a nail-biting finish, and then lost the second, but his eyes were still pretty sparkly when he ran over after the game. “Did you see my rebounds, Mama?” he asked breathlessly.
Between plays, my daughter and her cousin drew portraits of each other, and I visited with the 3-year-old sister of one of the other players. When it was time to pack up and head into the cold, nobody minded …well, not too much.
Pink-cheeked and laughing, the grownups followed the kids out, walking toward our cars. The wind was still blowing hard, but now it was at our backs, ready to carry us home.
