Punching bag

Sometimes you are the puncher and sometimes you feel like the punching bag.

Apollo has been obsessed with karate ever since we watched Karate Kid for New Year's Eve. I waited almost a whole month to enroll him, just to make sure it wasn't after-movie euphoria. (Besides, we had 3 or 4 years worth of hand-me-down soccer cleats carefully packed and labeled, waiting to be used). But karate was calling, so we signed him up, and have patiently watched him kick, block, and strike his way through his first belt. He loves learning all the moves and the self-defense excercises; I love how they encourage goal-setting and discipline. He had his first test a week or so ago, and although everyone passed (they make sure everyone is prepared before they test them), he was really nervous.

But boy did he feel proud when he got his new belt!

It doesn't always work out so well, though. Last week Paris tried out for a travel soccer team. He is always one of the better players on his rec team, but then, there are a lot of kids on rec who just started to play. So we thought we'd expand his learning with some paid coaches and more competitive play. He has such a passion for soccer, and he never gets tired of playing it, we thought he'd be a shoo-in for sure. But I couldn't help trying to prepare him for rejection, just in case. "You know, if you don't get in, it's okay-- you can play rec, we'll look into other leagues..."So many of my try-outs and auditions ended in dissappointment when I was young, I couldn't help feeling that sense of doubt creep in with the nerves and excitement. "What's the matter, Mom?" Paris finally cut me off. "Don't you think I'll make it?" And with that I suddenly felt ashamed for even putting out the possibility of not making it. I tried to explain that it was my self-doubt, not to worry, he would surely make it.

But after two days of grueling try-outs in a balmy spring that suddenly turned into a punishing summer of 90* days, and then waiting and waiting and waiting for the call...it seemed that my doubts were warrented after all. At last the team was posted, and in a trembling voice, Paris told me, "Mom, I didn't make the team"...and my heart sank, as I tried to help my personal soccer hero grapple with the lows of dissappointment. I must admit throughout the weekend, waiting more anxiously for that call than I have for any other (and I have had my share of waiting for calls...from waiting for boys to waiting for jobs), I had had my share of tears and prayers, carefully hidden away from my hopeful boy. We had refrained from putting Paris in travel soccer in NJ because all of the games were played on Sunday. When I was struggling with this in NJ, I felt a promise from the Lord that my kids would not suffer from choosing to keep the Sabbath day holy, and yet now he wasn't good enough? It was a tough weekend.

The list was posted last Sunday, after the sacrament speaker had talked on this talk from General Confrence, and as I tried to comfort Paris, I can only have faith that this dissappointment will reveal new opportunities and growth. Maybe for me as much as for him.