Never Too Small to Kick the Ball

When does one officially become a parent? The night you survive an all-night colic session? The minute you're singing kid show theme tunes to yourself? The time you see yourself in the grocery store window with nap head, three-day growth and mismatched sweats? Those are definite indicators, but I crossed into the deep parenthood realm by signing young Maceo to his first 8-week class: Bug Ball.

Bug Ball takes place in an indoor soccer facility. It's run by coaches who help kids do fun age-appropriate things that involve el juego bonito. They roll the ball with their feet. They learn to share. They jump through hoops, literally, and work on balance and coordination. They do a lot of running around and kicking the ball. So for eight weeks, we packed him up and shlepped him off to the Bug Ball facility for a Saturday morning fun run. It's perfect for my son, who displayed a lot of advanced talent at running in stride with the ball (see above).

Or so I thought.

Maceo paid attention probably 30 percent of the time. Other times he's off in his own world, flopping on his back to look at the ceiling or to run to his bag for a juice break. I was a bit disappointed he wasn't sending long crosses to fellow Bug Ballers or dispossessing the other kids and burying the ball into the top right corner. He starts out good but loses interest fast, unless it involves kicking the ball into other people.

My hopes aren't totally dashed. I have to keep reminding myself, he's only 2.5 years old. Other parents have told (consoled?) me that when year 3 comes around, something switches inside them and they become more manageable. Maceo connects the dots that Saturday = Bug Ball, and that's kick. So maybe he won't make the FC Barça developmental squad by age 9 like phenom Bojan Krkic) but it doesn't hurt to dream.

SD