It may be a cliche but one minute your kid is a freshman, the youngest one on the field, playing against guys four years older, much more physically developed and stronger. Blink and he's a senior, the tallest kid on the field, co-captain of his team, yelling instructions to his younger teammates.
That's how fast high school (or any era) in life passes. Inevitably, it seems, before you're ready for it.
It's bittersweet seeing your kids grow up. Part of you wanted them to remain small and cuddly; now they grow big and strong and have to begin distancing themselves from you for their own welfare.
It's their lives, not yours, and they need to assume control. What's hard for a parent, even with the best of intentions, is to let go, and let them make the mistakes that will help them grow.
Your main work occurred years ago. Now you can have some influence, but they're running their own show.
My son's team doesn't look to be as strong this year as in the past three seasons, which is a shame, now it's his last in high school. They were clobbered by Mission High yesterday, 6-0.
What I took away from the experience was another bad sunburn, despite trying to use sunscreen, and a sad feeling that I guess his chances for a championship are unlikely to have ever gotten closer than that November day two years ago when his team lost the title game to Lowell H.S.
This year's squad is mainly younger guys; just three other seniors made the team. They are in rebuilding mode, it appears.
Sports as metaphor works equally well whether you win or lose, are happy or sad. It's always a struggle -- to get on top or to rise up from the bottom.
At least he didn't get injured in yesterday's fast-paced game, although he did sustain a hard hit in the second half that when he was younger and smaller might have led to an ankle sprain.
Driving home afterwards, he said the loss didn't surprise him; he could tell from practices the past few weeks that this team is disorganized and immature.
His main job this year will to be one of the leaders and set an example for the younger kids. Looking him out on that pitch, the only white kid on either team filled up with Latino boys, I was proud of him once again -- for sticking through this whole high school experience in a place where he is a minority.
And in soccer, a minority of one.
I don't think he sees it that way -- he sees the other guys as individuals, not through the lens of race. Many of them are his friends. Their affection for one another is visible from the stands -- as they shake hands and encourage one another before the game, and keep trying to keep up the competition during it.
As a sport, there is no race, ethnicity, color of skin -- none of that. There are strikers, mid-fielders, backs, and keepers.
Players one and all. And that's how it should be.
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