Greg shook his head.
"Unbelievable."
Another father near them said, "Some kids should not be playing defense."
Renee made sure everyone could hear her.
"Some kids should not be on the team."
Leo froze.
The other children were still scattered across the field.
A few had started walking toward the bench, but most were staring at the adults.
Then I saw tears run down Leo's face.
He stood there, trapped in the middle of the field while grown adults blamed him for a 10-year-old soccer game.
Advertisement
Something in me changed.
I stood up.
There was a plastic bottle of orange soda beside my chair.
I had bought it for Leo for after the game. I picked it up without thinking.
Tanya saw me coming and glanced at the bottle.
So did Greg.
His expression shifted.
For one satisfying second, I think he believed I was about to dump it over his head.
I was angry enough to understand why he thought that.
But I was not going to give him a reason to make himself the victim.
Before I reached them, I bent down and placed the bottle on the grass.
Then I walked into the middle of their little group.
"He's 10 years old," I said.
My voice carried farther than I expected.
Advertisement
The conversations along the sideline stopped.
Greg crossed his arms.
I looked at each of them.
"You're adults. Listen to yourselves."
No one answered.
I pointed toward the field.
"My son made one mistake in a children's soccer game, and you decided to humiliate him in front of his teammates."
Greg rolled his eyes.
"We are allowed to be frustrated."
"Frustrated?" I said. "You sarcastically applauded a crying child."
"He cost them the game."
"No. The team lost the game. A team wins together, and a team loses together."
Tanya closed her notebook.
"Nobody is attacking him."
"You shouted, 'How do you miss that?' while he was standing 20 feet away."
Advertisement
"Because it was an easy play."
"Then put on a uniform and make it yourself."
A few parents nearby laughed.
Tanya's face turned red.
Renee stepped forward.
"We all pay for our kids to be here. We expect the coach to put the strongest players on the field."
"And I expect adults to know better than to bully a 10-year-old."
"Bullying?" she said. "That is dramatic."
"No. What you did was dramatic. Screaming over a Saturday game like college scouts were waiting in the parking lot was dramatic."
That was when Coach Leonardo reached us.
"What is going on?" he asked.
Before I could answer, another mother spoke from behind me.
"They were yelling at Leo."
Her name was Melissa. Her daughter, Grace, played midfield.
Advertisement
She folded her arms.
"They blamed him for the loss and said he should not be on the team."
For full cooking steps, turn to the next page or click the Open button (>) and don't forget to SHARE with your Facebook friends.
