Today I watched my four-year old pummel another boy.  During his pee-wee soccer game.  And you know what, the kid had it coming.  This kid was a bully.  He took out at least every kid on my team once.  Seriously.  At some point in the game one of my kids was in tears because of this kid.  As for Owen, he gave him a couple of shoves, a trip, and a jersey tug- all of which Owen brushed off with nothing more than a couple of “stop its” and a little push to clear some space.  I will admit, Owen does play a bit rough, and we’ve talked about not pushing in games, but its always in the context of the “swarm”– and anyone who has ever watched four-year olds play soccer knows exactly what I’m talking about when I say “swarm.”  O has a tendency to push his way out of the pack- a skill I actually think is appropriate for the physical game of soccer, but that’s a digression.  My point is there’s a difference between playing hard and playing cheap.  This kid was playing cheap, and worst of all neither the parents nor the other coach was doing a damn thing about.  Parents of the kids on my team were complaining loud enough for the entire field to hear (this is something considering we live in passive-aggressive ground zero, Minnesota).  By the end of the first half I couldn’t get a single one of my girls out on the field if he was there.  Now that is the subject of an entire other post, but you get the picture.  I don’t feel at all bad saying that this little four-year old was a punk.  

Well, this little punk shoved Owen one too many times, and Owen turned around and shoved the kid back.  Hard.  So hard the kid fell right over on his butt.  Next thing I know he’s lunging at Owen and swinging.  Owen charges right in and lands a couple of his own.  Within seconds the coaches were breaking up a pee-wee fight.  I was breaking up a pee-wee fight and my son, the coach’s son, was right smack in the middle of it all.

Talk about a parenting moment.  I don’t want him fighting, but can I blame the kid for standing up for himself?  Plus, soccer is an aggressive physical sport.  Fights happen.  I know this firsthand.  Again- a topic for another day.  My point is, I was trying to balance making sure he was okay, understanding his need to defend himself, and make sure his own aggression stayed in check.  All while keeping my own cool.  No small task.

Now let me say that by the time the fight actually happened my blood was boiling.  My kids were in tears, no longer having any fun, subjected to an aggressive and out of control brat.  The coaches and parents on the other team were worthless.  I watched my son get pushed around, brush himself off and fight back tears to keep playing. It took everything in my power not to go over and yank the other kid right off the field myself.  So when I saw Owen stand up for himself my first reaction, which I kept silently to myself, was to cheer- to encourage him to beat the holy hell out of that brat for all the crap he inflicted on the entire team.  ”Show that kid some JUSTICE Owen!” I shouted in the privacy of my own brain.  And then I saw O, scared, angry, and worried that he was in trouble.  I hugged him, checked him out (no punches landed on Owen, can’t say the same for the other kid) and managed to catch the other coach tell this punk that it was okay, Owen started it.  Ohhellno.

How I didn’t get right up and kick that coach square in the balls is beyond me, but I didn’t.  Instead I took a breath and calmly, but loudly enough so the field could here (Minnesota, after all), said  ”Just because some kids don’t know how to play nice doesn’t mean you don’t, Owen.  And Owen, usually when kids don’t play nice its because they aren’t very good.”  Okay, so I admit that the last part was juvenile- yes, I did talk smack to a four-year old.  I’m a horrible, horrible adult.  So what.  But you know what, I’m proud of Owen.  He held his cool till he just couldn’t anymore.  Then he let him have it.  Good thing too because the kid had it coming.