‘I had become exactly the soccer mom I didn’t want to be’
Image: Nine IJff
Laura Hogendoorn is editor-in-chief of Mamaplaats and a columnist for Kek Mama. She lives in ‘t Gooi, together with her boyfriend Oscar and their children Roef (8), Sierd (6) and Maia (4).
“Come deeper into that ball Olivier!” it sounds with a Gooise voice. I look up. “Over the left flank, Ollie!” Next to me is a father of a boy from my oldest’s football team. He hangs over the railing of the football field with about four-fifths of his stature. His head is red, his eyes are on fire. On the field I see a shy boy with blond, straight hair looking up confused. Judging by the empty look in his eyes, he can do little with the instructions of his fanatical father.
Sports club
It has been clear to me for some time that sport in ‘t Gooi is a serious matter. That starts with choosing the (preferably prestigious) sports club. The choice between tennis and hockey is a very difficult one, I notice when I listen to my son’s friends. You can’t be early enough with the registration for a golf club either. Not to mention ski lessons, in which almost all the children in the class already participate every week. You will only fail on the slopes with your six years… Imagine. Not for me, I thought.
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Line shouters
So I recalcitrantly put my son on football. That seemed to him the most fun and after all it’s about the fun of the child. And what do I care if he wins or loses? At least, that was the thought. Until last week. When the referee asked during the match if I wanted to soften up a bit or else better leave.
Who? I?! So it turns out that I myself have become exactly the soccer mom I didn’t want to be. Completely immersed in the game. Not that I know anything about football. But I just notice everything that the referee is biased, that the ball was really in. The kind of mother who, when a scout is on the line, immediately thinks she has the new Messi in her house. Hallelujah, that’s where my pension provision scores!
I am ashamed and promise my son that evening that I will only open my mouth if I know what I’m talking about. “Agreed,” he says. “Then from now on you will be completely silent during all football matches.” Obviously, but that turns out to be more difficult than it seems.
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