A Memoir of Happiness, Chaos, and Barely Playing the Game
Holden “plays” soccer — but he doesn’t really play soccer. He flails. He runs in circles. He laughs like the whole thing is a joke only he understands.
When he was younger, most of the kids were just like him. Little whirlwinds with shin guards. But now he’s moved up to the next age group — and suddenly, some of the kids know what they’re doing. He still doesn’t. His foot almost never touches the ball. Whole games go by without a single kick — and he doesn’t seem to mind.
He used to fake fall on the field, just for fun. He’s outgrown that, I think. But last week, in the middle of the game, he wandered into the goal and wrapped himself up in the net like a burrito. Just stood there, smiling, tangled and content.
And honestly? It was perfect. Because the thing about Holden is — he’s always been all in… just not always in the same direction as everyone else.
Sometimes I wonder if the other parents are watching too — if they notice how offbeat he is. Sometimes I wish I could explain him. Other times, I think: maybe I don’t need to.
Maybe it’s enough that he’s happy. That he’s trying. That he shows up exactly as he is, every single time.
This post is part of my One-Minute Memoir series — short reflections on small moments that still manage to say something big.
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