Sheryl Green: Drawing in the dirt
The week of soccer tryouts last year at Jordan High was -- shall I say -- an experience never to be forgotten. With only three starters returning from a successful season the year before, it was slated to be one of those seasons all coaches dread, "the rebuilding year."
To my motley crew of girly girls, recruited softball players, eccentric artists and street kids, I figured the third night of tryouts would be the night I put the fundamentals of soccer aside and let them play a smaller version of the game. I divided the girls into teams of four, marked out miniature fields, and let 'em at it.
Very quickly, chaos encroached onto my field of dreams.
Out of pity for my passion for soccer and to cease my heart palpitations at its desecration, I stopped their versions of the game. The questioning hands went up: "So, we can't use our hands?" "Coach, what is the object here?" "Are we supposed to steal the ball from them?" "What are those cones for?" "Am I allowed to kick her?"
In all my years of coaching, I had never seen that level of inexperience. These kids were not your suburban, pony-tailed kids who watched the World Cup a few years back and jumped on the USA bandwagon, screaming, "We Believe." These were not the girls sporting elite fluorescent cleats and cute little Nike shorts, toting a monogramed duffle bag covered with patches of their club soccer travels.
My girls did know Abby Wambach from Mia Hamm or Hope Solo from Alex Morgan. But they reported to tryouts in Converse low tops and jeans. I answered their questions with a battle going on in my head between being perplexed at their ignorance of such a worldly sport and being amazed at their desire to learn about it as late-blooming soccer enthusiasts.
So, I drew in the dirt.
Our field lacks the comfort of grass, so the canvas was abundant. I simply drew a rectangle, placed four leaves as the goal posts and explained the very basic concepts of the game.
"You try to get the ball, with only your feet, of course, through their leaves," I humbly said, "but at the same time, you have to stop the other team from getting the ball through your leaves."
Dim lightbulbs went on. Play resumed.
They ran around and traveled in packs, like most immature soccer players do. Again, out of self-preservation, I called the game to a halt. I brought my pupils over to my canvas. I heard one proclaim, "I don't get this." That was obvious, and I appreciated her forthrightness.
Out of desperation, with the same dirty finger, I divided my dirt-drawn field into fourths. I assigned each girl a box and encouraged them to remain loyal to those boundaries. I offered some other pointers and set them off. Immediately, things were different. I watched and I smiled, mainly because they smiled. It was no longer chaotic.
Something was different inside me, too. I realized that these girls were intrigued with something I have spent my entire life enjoying. I had been given the awesome opportunity to share a sport with these kids that has been so abundantly gracious to me almost my entire life. How often I take for granted the blessings and lessons from sport, and how neat it was to present the same to these girls.
Eventually and reluctantly, I had to conclude practice. As they jogged towards me, they remarked how much fun they had, and like a proud mama, my heart smiled. I could enjoy that moment because I realized something profound. The season was not going to be about wins and losses. It was going to be about sharing passions. Presenting new experiences to these underexposed girls who come from little but dream of much. Introducing possibility to them and giving them what they need to reach it.
It's not normal, you know, what those girls wanted. Kids these days do not look at something new, something difficult and say, "I think I'll give it a try."
But they could.
They would -- if someone simply took the time to draw in the dirt. That's what teachers do every day. They dirty their finger in desperate attempts to make learning relevant, to break concepts down, and to teach until the smiles of "I got it" come.
They find a canvas made of anything and everything in order to share passion and knowledge.
Good job, dirty-fingered teachers.
Sheryl Green is an independent contractor. Contact her at sherylgreen14@yahoo.com
This story was originally published December 29, 2015 at 10:31 PM with the headline "Sheryl Green: Drawing in the dirt."