Ricochet

I love to watch my son play soccer with other kids his age. Some kids are so tall they look like giants compared to my pre-adolescent one, but I don't worry. I know he will catch up someday. This year the parents on the sidelines are particularly vocal. Throughout the game, I hear a lot of "go, go go!", "kick it!", "good job!", among some other riveting comments. Our team has the most parents yelling at the top of their lungs. The other teams' parents usually look over at one point with frustrated looks at all the noise. I usually just sit there and watch like the dignified person I like to think of myself as. All the kids on our team want a chance to kick the ball into oblivion, so the defenders usually don't protect the goalie leaving him stranded. During one point in last week's game, Nathanael was the goalie. His teammates were on the other end of the field all ready and willing to get their chance to win a goal for their team. Then comes this humongous kid who got the ball for the opposing team and went straight for our goal. The noise on the sidelines came to a frenzy. The boy kicked as hard as he could and the ball went straight for Nathanael. It hit him right in the forehead and ricocheted off the goal post into out-of-bounds. As my son grabs his forehead and runs for the ball, I hear, "All right!", "That was awesome!", "Did you see that?", "We'll be talking about that all week long!" He seemed alright and the game resumed. At break time, he was coming in for his water bottle and as the parents cheered him and clapped, he broke out into goofiness. He opened his mouth in a voiceless cheer, waved his hand, and was an all-around ham. He may have taken a hit, but he saved the goal. The kid was euphoric.