The Little Things

My weekends are packed.  We gather up the kids, pile into the suv and drive down the road to the soccer fields.  Children in bright colored uniforms greet us each Saturday.  We sit on the sidelines, and cheer on our own team.  And each week, it usually happens that one of the teams doesn't get a goal.  There are parents who cheer loudly and get excited about each kick their child makes.  There are parents whose heads are bent over their phones and miss the entire game.  There are grandparents, aunts, uncles, cousins, and siblings there who have come to cheer one tiny uniform clad child on.  And in the midst of all that are my kids.

This last weekend, something happened in Luke's game.  He was being his usual self in the game.  Excited to be there, but not really paying attention to the game.  He had some moments where he got into the game, and then backed off.  He has been a timid player this year, we aren't sure why.  Finally, he decided to get into the game, and he was going into the ruckus.  Meanwhile, on the field, one of his blue clad mates had fallen, and was hurt.  He was taking a long time to get up.  Luke in the middle of a really intense part of the game, noticed.  He could have kept going for the ball, his coach wanted him too.  His team mates wanted him too.  But Luke, he stopped.  Walked over to his team mate, put his arm around him and helped him.  And stayed next to his team mate until he was sure that he was okay.  I wish I had a picture of that moment.  That was my boy out there.  Not concerned about a goal, or kicking the ball.  He wanted to help his team mate.  And that is the kind of boy I am raising.  He is a gentle and sweet soul.  And I love him for it.