Soccer Dad

I had to be taught how to do this.  I remember the first soccer season in the fall of 2009 when Pedro was playing with the Capitol Hill “Raptors”. (I still don’t really know what a “raptor” is.).  There I am yelling in my very “outside” voice, “Go Pedro!  Go!”

It’s all a bit too loud for Dave. “You yell his name every time he even gets near the ball.  We have to cheer on the whole team.”  Oh yeah, that’s right.  “Go Raptors!”

A kind mom walks over to us, “When our team is winning 12-0 we try not to cheer quite so loudly every time we get another goal.” “But Pedro just scored!”, I want to cry, but don’t.  Smile and nod.

I learn that first season a lot about standing quieter on the sidelines, hands in my pockets.  But my eyes stay glued on him, watching him maneuver yet another ball away from two players and take a shot at goal.  And there he is, one more time, finger outstretched, pointing emphatically to where he wants his teammates to stand.  It must drive them all up a wall.

Now, four teams later, Pedro is playing this spring on one of the Garfield High School soccer teams.  So here I sit in the stands at Memorial Stadium cheering on “Blue”, “White” or whatever color they are this day.  Proud of myself for cheering on some of his teammates as well.  As usual, on the way home, I will listen as Pedro reviews the set-up for his goal, the mistakes the keeper made, and what will help improve his team.

I’ve been learning that it all comes down to things like this:  Standing beside, but not too close.  More responsibility, less pestering.  Letting him be himself.  Letting me be myself. Standing apart, cheering him on, showing him the confidence that I trust in him.     Letting him grow, stumble, fall, fail.  And yes, someday, to let him go.

Pedro’s final hearing on his application for political asylum is May 23.  He’ll appear with his lawyer before an immigration judge who will decide that day whether he will be granted asylum or not.  It’s really difficult to get political asylum and we’ve been told that most likely he won’t.  But Pedro’s lawyer let him know that if his application is denied that it’s likely that the judge would give him 30 days before needing to leave the country – enough time for him to finish 10^th grade.   That has made a huge difference for Pedro and he has been a very happy young man this past month.  (Of course, he still does have his other moments…)  All in all I think he feels a lot of relief that this long three year process is finally coming to a close.  One way or another he will know where his future lies.

We really don’t know what is best for Pedro.  He’s undecided himself about what he wants.  He calls his parents, grandparents, uncles in Guatemala regularly.  I know he misses them and his country, his culture a lot.  Here he gets to be in school and have opportunities like playing on this team.  Here, there is a dream of completing high school, going on to community college and becoming a police officer.  Going home means other dreams and choices that are inseparable from what is best for his family.   We’ve helped his family buy some farm land so that he would have some work and place to go home to; Pedro has been paying us back by using all of his allowance money over the past month.

“We live between two places holding on and letting go.  None of us know how to let go.”  I say this at every memorial service.  And now I’m in one of those places with Pedro.  I too don’t know how to do this part.  This part of life, of parenting, of letting go.  I feel so sad thinking about the possibility of him leaving us.  I will miss him so much.  Miss these soccer games.  Miss our random conversations, like that one last week, sitting on the couch watching the Sounders play the San Jose Earthquakes.   I ask, “How do you say his name again, Pedro, Zaguani?”  “Pete!  What you talking about!  You know English.”  (I still don’t remember how to say his name.)

Pedro has just scored – a nice shot to the lower left, just out of the keeper’s reach.  He’s tearing down the field, fists pounding the air, and howling.  A huge smile on his face as he high-fives his teammates.

“Good job, Pedro!  Great goal!”

“Maybe the only way we can let go is with the hope, faith, trust, prayer, that we are being held on to by a Love that can never, will never let us go.”

Today, this Good Friday, that prayer is for me, for all of us, living in this time of letting go.  I reach out my hand, hold on.   I hold on.