David and Goliath

My little Thing 1 won the only award given by his soccer team tonight -- most improved. Thing 1 went from freaked out and zoned out to focused and driven on the field. In the last game, he saved three goals from a giant SuperSized kid as the goalie for his team.

I have no idea where he got this tiger inside him for the game. One day, a few weeks ago, after weepy talks of wanting to quit soccer because they "push me and take the ball away," Thing 1's perspective just changed. Overnight, my boy didn't care who was bigger or faster or stronger. He had a mission: Get That Ball.

Tonight, as a dozen pizza faced 4-6 year old's cheered and walloped around the nearest RoundTable, I found my son stunned, eyes glassy and unaware of the dozen or so parents who voted him the kid who grew the most, instead staring at me smiling a cheeky grin. A child -- even a grownup's -- greatest wish: a unanimous crowd of cheering teammates, coach and friends howling your name.

My son, two years out of diapers, facing his first Goliath.

Damn this parenting gig is cool sometimes.