Several years ago, I took my children to a local baseball field on a Saturday morning to register my eldest, now 8-year-old Kevin, for spring baseball. While I navigated through sizes for hats and baseball pants, I was approached by a few eager coaches observing the crowd.
“How old is your other son?” one coach inquired, gesturing towards my middle child, Charlie. “Does he play?”
I looked down, cradling my newborn in a carrier, and replied, “Uh, he’s 3, so no, he doesn’t play anything… except maybe superheroes,” I thought to myself.
“That’s too bad,” the coach responded, nodding approvingly. “Which high school are you zoned for? I coach football there. Keep me in mind if he decides to play!” I smiled, feeling both flattered and bewildered, and guided my boys away from the enthusiastic coaches intent on recruiting my preschooler for high school football.
Once upon a time in a serene setting, there was a little bull named Ferdinand.
These days, Charlie has developed a fondness for “The Story of Ferdinand” by Munro Leaf. Every night, he requests this book at bedtime, eagerly sharing the reading experience with his younger brother, who was once the baby cradled in my arms. Together, they joyfully finish my sentences as I read about Ferdinand, who prefers to sit quietly and smell the flowers rather than engage in the rambunctious activities of the other bulls.
When Charlie turned four, we decided to enroll him in soccer, believing it would be a perfect introductory sport, especially since he had friends from preschool on the team. Although he was thrilled to wear the uniform and be part of a team, his enthusiasm waned once practice began. Each Saturday, he ambled onto the field, lagging behind his teammates while they chased the ball. Despite the coaches’ encouragement to “go after the ball,” Charlie would often come to me with hopeful eyes, asking, “Is it snack time yet?” By the end of the season, he had yet to kick the ball but relished the post-season cupcake and trophy.
As time passed and Charlie turned six, we thought we had found his calling in swimming. With a family history of swimming success, we enrolled both boys in a year-round swim program. However, while other kids mastered their strokes, Charlie seemed more interested in exploring the water, often diving and cruising at his own pace. His coach would call out, “Hey Charlie, how about freestyle?” but Charlie was usually too absorbed in his underwater adventures to respond.
Eventually, he drifted away from swimming. He tried karate and flag football but ultimately found joy in a cartooning class that he now attends every Saturday, along with a weekly hour of group tennis.
Charlie is a tall, sturdy child, resembling an athlete in the making. However, his true passions lie in the creative realm. He thrives on creating imaginative games in our yard, crafting elaborate drawings of original characters, and indulging in Minecraft with friends or his brothers. It can be challenging to resist the urge to push him toward competitive sports, especially when I hear about his peers excelling in various athletic pursuits. I occasionally find myself concerned that he might be missing out or lagging behind, but I’ve learned that he is simply not inclined toward organized sports.
Charlie is our Ferdinand, content to express himself through art and imagination. He prefers to build unique creations with his Lego sets rather than follow the instructions. He finds joy in making his baby sister laugh. While I want him to be active and appreciate that he is starting to develop skills in tennis, I’ve come to terms with the fact that my son is not destined to be an athlete. And that is perfectly okay. There is a special place in the world for those like Ferdinand.
“This is my favorite part,” Charlie grins as I turn the page, and for all I know, he is still sitting beneath his favorite cork tree, enjoying the flowers in peace. He is very happy.
In conclusion, parenting is about recognizing and respecting our children’s unique preferences and talents. Just as Ferdinand found his happiness in being himself, we can embrace our children’s individuality, supporting them in their passions rather than imposing societal expectations.
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