Saturday was understandly a terrible, horrible, no-good, very bad day for Ben. At his first indoor soccer match of the season, his team was walloped 13-3. After scarfing down a quick lunch, Ben headed to his basketball game at the Y, where his team lost 43-10.
As Menashans, I guess we're used to defeat. Our high school has an excellent football team, but beyond that it gets rough. Among other factors, I suppose, our city just doesn't have as large a talent pool as others in the area.
At Ben's cross country meets last fall, teams like Kaukauna and Neenah dwarfed Menasha. It was like "Where's Waldo" trying to spot a Menasha kid among the masses of other-colored uniforms. With numbers like that, it was tough to compete.
Ben's quite used to being on losing teams. His soccer team last summer held a perfect defeated record. Same for the Menasha Hoops Club last winter. My oldest accepts losses with slumped-shouldered resignation.
When it comes to sports, it can be genuinely perplexing to watch Ben compete. At practice or playing for fun, he's aggressive, a tough competitor who appears to have some natural athletic ability. When it comes to game time, however, he takes on what Mark calls that deer-in-headlights look.
Ben seems so worried about making a mistake, he just kind of shuts down. At his soccer game, when the ball came to him, Ben's face looked utterly panicked, and he quickly kicked the ball away, plenty of times to an opposing player. At basketball, he's overtaken by the same fear. He gets the ball, and then he's afraid to own it.
Sometimes I worry whether competing is really making Ben happy. Ultimately, I guess that's his decision, though. In high school, I had fun, for a while, on the swim team and track team. I enjoyed little success, but I stuck with it until I decided it wasn't making me happy any longer.
It's all part of growing up, I suppose. Our hopes and dreams, our wishes to become a soccer standout or basketball star fall away. What remains, eventually, is the real us - our talents, our gifts, what we will nurture and spend our lives pursuing.
Along the way, it's painful sometimes. Ben, who's one of the shortest kids in his class, has been complaining of aches in his legs. Growing pains, I tell him. He complained to Mark that he's probably not growing at all, that he's suffering the pain with nothing to show for it.
He may not believe it now, but Ben will surpass 5 feet and then some, and I can only imagine what he'll become. I see someone who's so smart, bound for great things. He loves to run but no longer cares about winning races. He watches soccer and basketball and plays in the yard with his own son or daughter. And all those defeats? They no longer matter. He simply remembers a childhood well spent doing things he loved.
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