I'm incredibly proud of my grandson, Connor.
There he is... the kid on the far right. He's just started soccer and I'm so happy. I love the game. I thought he'd never finally pick a sport, but I'm glad it ended up being soccer. I hope he sticks with it, because I think he has talent.
It's been fascinating watching him figure it all out since that first game in September. Seeing him get to know the game and find out what he's actually supposed to do. Watching the concentration as he plays, his enthusiasm when he goes for the ball and the big grin on his face when he comes off the field is a delight. He's learning how the pass and think out the plays, and has made some great moves... his run up the left field yesterday was brilliant! But that's not why I'm bursting with pride this weekend.
They actually won their game yesterday. The team played really well together, including Connor. But the coach picked one boy as the man of the match, a boy who'd never really shone before, but yesterday he finally seemed to get it and it was noticed. I was watching Connor as Jonathan stood there in the middle of the group being praised by the coach. Connor was beaming with delight and puffed up with pride himself as his teammate was being congratulated on a game well played.
But it was when I heard Connor start the cheer that the big lump came to my throat. "Three cheers for Jonathan!! Hip hip..." "HOORAY!!!" It was fantastic... and so unexpected.
Sportsmanship at its best...