The 'Me' Years

by Daniel Griffin

Life at home has been getting easier. All three of our kids are finally in school and our eldest is almost ready to babysit. On weekends my wife and I can occasionally sneak out for a coffee. Once in a while we’re even able to sleep in. My wife and I call these the “me” years and they’ve been on the horizon a while now—a time when we can focus on ourselves a little more, go out and enjoy life. In fact, it was just starting to feel like Saturday mornings might have enough room for me to put my feet up and read the newspaper, when we decided to register two of our kids for soccer.

During the week my wife does all the child ferrying so Saturdays have traditionally been my turn to pick up and drop off. Over the years I’ve discovered that swimming lessons are the perfect activity for a lazy parent: the kids arrive together and they leave together. All I have to do is get there on time and sit and wait. Soccer’s different. For soccer, each kid needs to go in a different direction at a different time. With Vivian in skating lessons, that makes three locations, three drop offs, three pick ups, all in one morning.

Years ago, my cousin wrote a children’s song called “My Mum’s a Taxi.” I first heard it before I was even a parent and I was sure I’d never be a taxi. Now I am. Although I sometimes manage to arrange a car pool, most Saturdays I shuttle the kids all over town. I drop off Evelyn, drop off Tessa then drop off Vivian. I pick up Evelyn, pick up Tessa then pick up Vivian. On a good day, there’s just enough time between each trip to watch a bit of someone’s game. At least I’d thought there was. About three weeks into the season I got an e-mail from Tessa’s coach letting me know that the games ended at 11 a.m., not 11:15 a.m. I honestly hadn’t realized I’d been coming 15 minutes late all month. The fact the field was always empty by the time I picked up Tessa should have been a clue. Tessa had probably tried to tell me but after every game some other errand loomed. I’m always rushing to pick up the next kid.

Last week, Evelyn got a lift to her soccer game and afterwards I drove over to pick her up. I arrived at what I thought was Oakland’s Park and looked out across two soccer pitches without spotting Evelyn. I watched one game for a bit then watched another. The thing that actually makes soccer more enjoyable for parents than swimming lessons is that in soccer someone wins. (Although when I arrive half way through a game and ask who’s winning, I’m careful to keep my voice down. There’s always someone nearby pretending it’s a no-no to declare winners and losers in children’s soccer). On this day though I still had to figure out which game I should be watching. I spotted a friend and asked if he’d seen Evelyn.

He hadn’t.

“This is Oakland’s Park, right?”

Heads turned. A few people chuckled. My friend burst out laughing.

“Don’t tell me I’ve got the wrong soccer field,” I said.

The fact that it was on Finlayson Road should have been a clue. In my defence, I pointed out that the place didn’t have signs. My friend pointed out that if I wanted to get to Oakland’s before the game ended, I’d better hurry. The problem was he was laughing too hard to give me directions.

Being a soccer dad has had me pulling out my hair some Saturdays, but there are also Saturdays when I realize that if I weren’t chauffeuring our kids around, they’d be at home asking to watch TV or chasing each other around the house. Unless, of course, I could find a different activity for them.

When I was a kid, Saturday mornings were for chores. I scrubbed the kitchen floor on my hands and knees while one of my brothers ran three loads of wash and the other brother vacuumed and swept.

When the soccer season is over, I’m going to write out a chore list, and put my feet up and read the newspaper while my children work.

Daniel Griffin is a writer and a father of three. He lives in Victoria.