No I am not depressed.
Just hate aging.
I do not have enough money for Joan Rivers treatments.
Just kidding with all to a point.
Aging can be rough. At 44 I am having to realize more and more what no longer is.
We spend about 17 hours a week at the soccer practice fields and my spirit longs to run with the kids.
The body, however, cannot begin to play the way I remember playing.
Every night we have a routine after practice ends:
Practice ends.
Half the kids dutifully leave for home.
My three hooligans find some other straggling players, and the game goes on.
My wife and I call out to the three, "Time to go!"
They hear us but cannot respond. The game goes on.
Repeat. Repeat. Repeat.
Take the balls. A game of tag erupts.
Laughter, parents making empty threats, another ball materializes.
The game goes on...and on...and on.
Finally, as daylight wanes and sweaty little athletes declare the unfairness of their little foes
and parents extol the virtues of good sportsmanship, we pile into the minivan and trek for home.
Quietly I lean over to my wife with a smile barely contained and repeat what I have said a hundred times:
Maddening as the ritual is, I absolutely love that my kids are so passionate not only about soccer, but about
living in the moment. Let the game play on.
I may never again be on the field. I do wish I had the opportunity my kids have
and do have a tinge of bitterness at myself for not taking some of the opportunity I had, but on balance my spirit soars to the day that is.
I am dad now. Nobody will play that position better.
Let the game play on.