Soccer starts in two weeks. And, no, I don't mean me. For the first time in probably 15 years, I'm not currently on a soccer team. I just got burned out playing outdoor, mostly due to my age and out-of-shapeness that I wasn't willing to overcoming for two hours in the sun on a Sunday morning. That part feels weird. As does Andy being signed for soccer. It's a mini-me league that has "games" on Saturday afternoons. And by games, I mean organized playtime. I'm not even sure if there are jerseys, but I'm sure there are trophies.
I even volunteered to be an assistant coach, which both thrills and terrifies me. I always wanted to like coaching. I even went so far as to be help when my dad was my sister Mary's coach back circa 1982. But like my stint as a camp counselor, I was never one with the children and never really acheived that awesome status as a fun coach that also teaches the kids stuff that they really like and listen to. Bjorn did a lot of coaching for Mark and Jennifer in basketball and I loved being a helper to do the quiet tasks like keep the score books and mark off how may fouls every had. I never really aspired to be the one teaching drills. That part filled me with terror.
But Andy needed an assistant coach and I volunteered. Assistant I can probably handle. I think that means making sure parents show up with drinks and snacks after the games. I might even suggest a few drills so long as they don't make me actually run them.