Lizzy herself is no pushover, but when it comes to her son’s accomplishments, she can’t vouch for herself. Now that she’s a soccer talent, Mason (10) candidly admits that she’s become a regular screamer.
I can’t sleep the night before the football pick is announced. After several trial training sessions at the city’s most prestigious soccer clubs, we hear the next day if Mason has been accepted into the team of his choice. While my baby and my friend sleep peacefully, I feel bad. I pray to be there. Not because his future depends on it. We are talking about a well-played amateur club, but not about Ajax or PSV, not about an expensive contract. far from. The child is not yet eleven years old, because at the moment all that is needed is money.
No, the reason I’m so nervous is because I know Mason’s biggest dream is to be a professional soccer player. And well, also because I love it so much that my son rocks to a high standard. I really enjoy the atmosphere around the competitions, the encouragement of other parents, the exciting duels and the battle during the tournaments. And then seeing my son score the winning goal is absolutely amazing. Better than the best orgasm.
Mason has been playing on high selection teams since the age of seven, because his coaches consider him good for his development. Coaches praise his ability on two feet and his speed and he was the top scorer for every team.
“I’ve seen myself go from a silent spectator to a mad fanatic.”
In those years I saw myself transforming from a silent spectator into a frenzied fanatic. I’ve served as a material woman, assistant coach, lemonade inhaler and supervisor, but above all I’m an enthusiastic supporter for my son. This is very cool. I’ve never been so competitive. It’s also because I’ve never been a sporting prodigy myself and won more poodles than the major prize in my life. I can only laugh at that.
I can also lose at games over and over again without getting cranky. With Mason and my friend Mark, the dish regularly flies across the room or someone walks away from the table in frustration. Mark is definitely not going to let Mason win either. Not even when he was three and we played a simple game of Miffy-Memory. Mark said it would be difficult.
I secretly thought he didn’t want to be beaten. Not even a small child. Losing is seen as defeat by the gentlemen of the house, no matter how many times I try to please them with relative winners like “it’s just a game”. I used to dismiss this constant desire to win from my men as childish and nonsense. My kid even started playing soccer and not only was Mason amused by him when he lost, but so was his mom.
Everything is competition
With Mason, stubbornness is simply in his DNA. With him, everything is a competition. When we switch to soccer training by bike, the sprint starts in the last segment. “You were already there much earlier, Mom.” He likes to get dressed in thirty seconds. But he often competes with Mark: “I ate six pancakes and Dad only five,” or “I can pee a lot.”
“When it comes to football, suddenly I don’t seem neutral anymore”
I usually skip between them like some kind of Switzerland: “Wow, you two have a very strong jet of urine.” But when it comes to football, it seems like I’m suddenly no longer neutral. After a tournament, I was completely in a bag of ash because they finished second. Or because Mason’s team conceded a goal in the last minute or was completely passed by eight other boys and girls.
Mark laughs at me at the end. He comes over occasionally to watch a match, but doesn’t necessarily like it. Mark is of course proud of our son and thinks it’s great when Mason scores, but he’s missing the supportive gene.
Also read – Messi in the Making: If your child is an Ajax>
Where does this desire to perform suddenly come from within me? No idea. When Mason was in kindergarten, I also managed to attend his games quite calmly. I was taken aback by the parents who yelled at the rug for their son to “kill” and to “take down” my son. I stood there most of the time, watching with a mixture of dread and amazement. This was about a banner, not a gold medal. Leave the damned now! If only they were having fun, right? But now that Mason has suddenly burst into the forefront of amateur football, everything has changed.
“Gone is it,” participate in the Olympics, “is the most important idea.” “If we participate, then I also want to win,” is now my credo.
Gone is the “participation is the most important” philosophy of the Olympics. “If we participate, then we also wish to win” is my credo now. I’m jumping and screaming and cheering along the side. I’m just trying to be a positive encouragement, because these are KNVB regulations and they are very strict, but sometimes this only works hard. Then I yell at the keeper to hit the ball and not get it far—or, in the short version: “Max! Hands!”
If the judgment is too biased in my opinion, I bite my cheek, but keep my lips together. But when the supporters of the team go crazy over the referee, I tell them: “What a dirty foul,” or: “It’s a home whistle! That was perfectly legal tackle on the ball!”
Ordinary loud line
In fact to embarrass you to death I have become such a screaming common. Oddly enough, I’m not fanatical at all about my own accomplishments, but when it comes to my baby, I’m a lioness. I just don’t like to see him fail. His annual advice on Cito sparks something animal in me.
“His yearly advice in Cito also sparks something animal in me”
I still think Mason should basically follow the level that best suits his ability. I myself have climbed from mavo to havo to mbo and hbo and our society needs more practical educated people than bright minds.
However, I was a little annoyed when my seven-year-old’s spelling was a bit above the national average. how is that possible? Mason was already speaking in complete sentences by the age of two and loved to read. It’s become veritable Nazi language, correcting anyone who says “mom” or mixes up “if” and “then.” I feel proud when relatives say they think he’s good at grammar and can say he’s the son of a journalist.
Unfortunately, his report is not encouraging. I know how bloody annoying it is when parents go to the teachers and courtesy to complain and I really trust their judgment. But I have to swallow.
Friend Julia (38) is aware of this. Her daughter, Fleur (10), suffers from a combination of dyscalculia and performance anxiety, and begins to tremble as soon as her teacher announces that test week is approaching. She got a 2 on her first math test, and her score stayed low for the rest of that term and headed into the double. It is forbidden for Julia, officially due to Fleurs High. It’s already the tallest in the class, and staying at the bottom means it’s going to be a giant all around.
There was something else he was secretly playing with: She didn’t want to have to admit to those around her that her daughter couldn’t keep up in school. Julia used to be a person whose education Hyacinth struggled with. That is why she hired a student worker who spent a few afternoons a week making payments with Flor at €35 an hour. with a positive effect. Julia was a financial drain on student life, but Fleur had excellent grades and moved into seventh grade with five and six.
Also read – Miss Merle: “Kiss’s parents only want one thing: that he perform at school”>
Competition and performance
Fortunately, when I ask other female friends about their competitive and performance motivation, I quickly get support. I’m not the only one who likes to see his blood work out.
Jasmine’s friend admits she did everything she could to get her 11-year-old daughter, Ross, to join a famous hockey club. She volunteered as the team’s coach and her husband’s company sponsored a fair share of the club’s renovation. Not because her daughter would become the new Naomi van As, but because this was a very desirable club and league player. Ross first played hockey at a local club, but it was more about the French fries after that than the game. The girls lost every week and played hockey in the lower class. Nothing to brag about.
“The girls lost every week and played lower league hockey. Not something to be proud of.”
With her classmate Marieki, her performance orientation was consistent with the behavior of the parents of her son’s soccer-playing opponent Lars (7). If she wasn’t chilling, she also let herself go and cheered on Team Lars audibly. And at that time when her son’s team beat the opponent 8-0, she was very happy, especially because of the other team’s arrogance. They appeared with three supervisors, a coach, and an assistant coach for a six-boy team. In addition, they brought with them a tactical board, including magnets and arrows. Mariki couldn’t resist noticing afterwards subtly that it didn’t help much.
Crying after the game
Although Mariki enjoyed her role as “soccer mom”, she nonetheless unsubscribes Lars from the soccer club for the season. Her seven-year-old son’s mental state was affected by the coach’s performance guidance. She had a constantly crying baby at home after a game and drew the line when she once overheard the guy practicing and calling the losing kids. This went too far.
“The coach called the kids losers, that was exaggerated.”
I completely agree with her. Football remains Mason’s greatest passion, especially now that he has been named – to the delight of mother and son – on the team to play in the division. But if Mason gets too stressed out or if he decides to do tennis, kickboxing or ballet tomorrow, I’ll support him in that too. Although I’m afraid that as far as cheering is concerned, I’m forever devastated and then I’ll be a total fanatic.
This article appears in Kek Mama 11-2022.
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