Exchange

This is a work-in-progress I wrote a few days ago about a young couple figuring out what kind of parents they hope to be.

"Those were the days," Randall thought, as he looked on at the two dozen kids running about the field, pretending to know what the hell they were doing.

The 48-year-old software engineer didn't always plan to be the soccer, family-van driving Dad he'd become in recent years. 

He always envisioned himself, and his now-wife Julie, to be one of the those older couples that would live in the suburbs or the downtown loft that he'd dreamed of since the first few semesters at The University of Texas at Austin, then afterwards when he went to pursue his Master's at MIT. Yes, even he admitted, at times, wondered even, how he went from world-renowned and highly acclaimed UT, much less its engineering department and school, to the globally-known institution that is MIT.

"Luck," he always told the friends who asked him the same sorts of things at the occasional gatherings he and Julie attended.

Otherwise, Randall, Randy as he (or anyone with such a given name) much preferred, attributed the change from the burnt-orange lifestyle in that hard-working and ease of a grand city to the illustrious realm of the northeast scholars as both sheer chance and the reality of of enormous dedication to a craft even he, much less "outsiders" who didn't understand the world of engineering mechanics and such, didn't always fully understand.

It's times like these, Randy would often remind himself, as he stared on at his son Joshua's team running around the field for the tenth time that game, that his attempt to understand his profession was validated by his Summa Cum Laude stature. 

"That is part of the expectation," his professors continuously stressed to him and his young, up-and-coming classmates, all dreaming of the days, like the Saturday mornings, when fully understanding the craft would result in that lavish life they hoped could be a result, a satisfying result, of the years he and the rest of their nerdy crew spent mastering their crafts, and honing in on their potentials.

In Randall's case, the calm breezes that accompanied the brisk mornings and peaceful nature trails were among the rewards he was blessed to see day in and day out from his, and Julie's, a 46-year-old Therapeutic Optometrist herself, fully aware of the demands and levels of academic rigor needed to attend, much less graduate, from places such as the MIT's of the world, realized they wanted to hold on to as firm reminders of what could be possible when you set your mind to it.

But, as it was, Julie knew they were lucky. So did Randy. They met while at MIT together. No, they didn't have the same classes in every fashion imaginable. And no, their degrees weren't exactly hand-in-hand type of disciplines. But, they did respect each others' pursuits enough to know to never overly mention their personal opinions about the others' aspirations and plans for a future when that very future wasn't always guaranteed.

In fact, when Randy and Julie Reed were at neighborhood get-together's of various occasions, some they cared for and others, not so much, and asked the questions about long-term family planning and their ambitions, the Reed's were logic-minded enough to feel that such planning was "something to always consider but realistically something to manage, deal with and handle when the time comes."

That was their agreed-upon acknowledgement; their statement.

To everyone.

For they didn't mind discussing long-term family-oriented plans. No, Randy and Julie actually enjoyed such discussions. "It is always nice to talk about those things," Julie often told Francine, her friend and neighbor about four blocks down the ways. 

"Because when those things come up," she would go on, "Out agreed-upon response, Randy's and mine, is always just our way of telling everyone we have thought about those things, sure, but haven't come to any firm decisions about the size of the family we want nor whether we might, realistically, live, cars we may or may not have. We talk about those things, don't get me wrong, Fran.

"We just don't overly obsess about them the way other couples might."

"But surely you get those things brought up by family and other friends, right?" Franny, as she preferred, would usually reply. 

Although she felt she knew Francine enough as a person, and friend of the last 10 or so years, to know when she was simply discussing the family topic in polite conversation or snooping for more neighborly gossip, Julie was never quite sure what to make of her insistent talks about it.

"Like I said, dear," Julie was confident, but quick, to respond, "Randy and I have out talks. And when we feel the tone is getting a little pushy, a little beyond what and where we want to discuss things, we simply take three deep breaths, with our eyes closed, and exhale while opening them.

"Then, we let that be that."

And that way of discussing those issues, Julie and Randy found over time, worked for them. They weren't the kind of people to let all these eventual, but sometimes unnecessary, topics get too much to discuss when, clearly, nothing would be done about them at that exact moment. So, they didn't.

They also understood, as they learned from their days when managing their respective levels of stress during undergrad and Graduate levels, such long-term ordeals that required long-term types of planning were meant for just that. Long-term. They weren't something, they always thought, that could be handled in one, two, or three simple discussions. 

Long-term is and was, to them, long-term.

And they refused to let it, those conversations, overwhelm them beyond what they had to.

For on this particular morning, Randy was half-analyzing his son's team and half pondering such issues. Hey, if he wasn't playing and not the Coach, certainly not with that authoritative presence most software engineer's lacked in demeanor, he had the luxury of time and that afforded him the right to observe and watch the young hobbits in front of him all he chose. 

He was also looking over his list. The one his wife gave him, which had the errands to run that day. Not always the most enjoyable aspect of his life, it came with his established duties. And, thus, they were part of his routine.

While Joshua was making every attempt to contribute to his team's already impressive-looking 6-0 scoreline, Randy knew that 10 and 11 year old's never really offered the same spectacle the average Sportscenter highlights mustered up on a daily basis.

Oh, he paying attention. He knew the talk of the families would call him out on it at some point if he wasn't or hadn't. He was paying attention more than most people thought he was. 

He noticed, for example, how Joshua never seemed to quite know what he was doing in spite of his best physical efforts to make it look as if he did. He noticed, furthermore, how Josh tended to think of the game as a cause-effect type of thing: if he went this way with the ball, then that way, something happened; or that way and other kids ran after him, knowing he couldn't quite play his way (by doing something, some trick or whatever) out of the situation or whatever it is, he could simply hit the ball somewhere and keep running. Yeah, Randy noticed his son, even at that young age, didn't quite show the sort of potential other kids may have. As an indirect result, he also didn't overly push his son if Josh wasn't showing the enthusiasm some of the other kids did. And he certainly wasn't one of the parents that forced his child to do well when, through talks or, better yet, simply watching them on the field, they didn't really "have that spark." 

For Randy had played the game himself, much the same as his son now. Once it "hit" him that he was better at analyzing the game and how certain teams played it better than others through their use of such skills as ball possession, passing and tactics, among others, he knew his own playing abilities would not show themselves on the playing side of the field versus theobserving side. Thus, as his years went on, he concluded, to himself, mostly, that he had no earthly business being on the playing field and he was, as reality constantly supported, better suited for "something else."

For those reasons, Randy was pleased enough to take his place on that grassy, small sideline. He'd become a Dad, like the rest of them, through that amazing thing they all referred to as the "rite of passage." And he seemed more than obligingly OK with following that mantra. 

And Julie knew that, too.

She wasn't one of those "wacko" wives that refused to believe her son would grow up without the slightest potential in an athletic endeavor or feat to show neighbor friends and family alike. The "Hey, you see that one? With the dark, somewhat wavy hair who looks like he'll be a star athlete in 10 year's time? That's my son" types. 

Julie, too, was OK if her first-born child didn't show athletic promise. Even at his young age, "do your best and try to have fun," was the most encouragement she would allow herself to offer him in terms of sports motivation pep talks. She didn't want to get his hopes up and then tell him, years later, with a sense of guilt and realistic honesty, that, in spite of his enthusiasm, the chances of him wearing a sports jersey and playing in it for a career were slim to none...

Instead, if Joshua didn't show it, she didn't push it. Instead, she wanted to know what he was really interested in. She enjoyed finding those things, when she spoke with her child. Those talks not only comforted her, they gave Joshua the confidence and self-esteem to not feel so "left out" when he saw his friends playing better on the field than he did. They also made Julie feel, in her own way, better about being a "loving" Mom to her boy.

For she knew, one day, the moment would come when kids, whether they were in her neighborhood or from elsewhere, kids would find out the truth about becoming an athlete.

It didn't matter to her if they were Francine and David's boy Jackson; Mary Lou and Steven's little Tyson; Gabrielle and Simon's little one, Michael; Denise and Austin's enthusiastic guy, Will, or Sandy and Clay's predictably unpredictable Troy. When Julie was referring to Josh's potential on the field, Julie already knew his answer.

So did Randy.

And they respected each other for that. They loved each other for their mutual sense of reality and not overly encouraging something that Joshua would not find in his future.

So on the days when the neighborhood leagues were not registering and the kids were not hounding their parents to join the team "only that their friend was on," because that was the only way they would play, Randy and Julie encouraged anything Joshua seemed interested in other than sports.

He enjoyed the local library. The books there offered him a concrete way to pursue even his young interests: outdoors, insects, creativity in fantasy and exploration. Those sorts of things. "Typical kids stuff," the Reed's would quickly conclude. Not only did they not mind their young boy having interests, and good ones to have, outside the field, they encouraged him with those. They seemed, in all actuality, ecstatic when Josh mentioned wanting to do things involving those--be it little adventures to the woods and such or reading tales in fantasy and historical things that showed finding places with discoveries to be made.

Neither Randall nor Julie had any firm idea whether those interests would pan into anything, but it was something to see and gave them the sense that their boy had interests in something other than athletics. And that was something they could both smile about when going to bed at night, especially after they've tucked him in or seen him to sleep.

"When can we go to the Library?" Joshua would ask on a weekly basis. "That depends," Mr. or Mrs. Reed would reply, without uncertainty. "Have you finished your books already?" was either his or her immediate response, just to ensure their son was actively staying on top of "his part" and that the trip to-be would be a meaningful one.

"Yea!" Joshua would say. "I finished my Space Exploration one two nights ago, I think. Yes. Yes I did!" He gave an accomplished smile. He knew he'd done something his parents would appreciate about him. 

"Okay," they told him.

"Dear," Julie said to her husband, "You have anything going on tonight or tomorrow when you're done with work? Maybe we can go then?" 

"Sure," Randy said, looking simultaneously at his wife and son. "Let's make a trip. I've been wanting to find a copy of The Inferno anyway. Maybe when we're there, I can find something for us to watch and a side book to read." As nerdy as it seemed, Libraries often had a decent collection of semi-recent and good films available for check-out. That was something he could appreciate about the, seemingly, invaluable, resource--er--location.

These were the sorts of daily happenings Randy enjoyed with his wife and boy. They had nothing, really to do with the game unfolding in front of him. And they sure defined him more than the neighborhood gossip talk that lingered around the water coolers when the kids were in halftime of their little squabbles. 

"Did you know that Mr. Nelson's niece won't be attending Northwestern after all?..." Mrs. Milton, Ray's mom, told the other Mom's standing around. It wasn't as if any of them had slightest idea what was happening on the field with their kids nor could Coach them on how to get better. Or so it seemed.

Besides, when you have a reputation for being a gossip, let alone having a gossip-mind and personality, like the Kelly Ripa, Hoda Kotb and Kathie Lee Gifford's of the world, well by golly, gossiping is what you do. 

"Oh, really?" they all mutually replied, one after the other, as the murmurs indicated in their sly tones. They continued their banter. Apparently, finances weren't the main issue with Northwestern.

Randy, though, continued his analytical thoughts about his boy and how he fit into the team.

About 30 minutes later, 10 to 5 earned the boys a well-deserved pizza party, the first of many that would follow in subsequent years.

The Stallions were sitting at 9 and 0. Only one more game, and victory, would solidify them as the Everett Under-15 Division Champions and the Melrose Area Champions. Of course, when you are that young age, as Josh and teammates were, none of that mattered to some of the boys. To others, it meant the early stages of everything that could await them.

No doubt Troy and Will would contribute most to the boys' chances of accomplishing the trophies they felt they deserved.

After another session of running around, the Stallions were up on the much-feared Golden Eagles, the other Everett-area U-15 team known for reaching the area level of championship play, 4 to 1. Troy somehow managed to get 2 goals; Will, in his cunning but clumsy and spontaneous way of playing, added the other 2. 

"Joshua," Coach Collins scurried over to him at the sidelines. 

"Yeah, Coach?" 

"I'm going to play you at the back right for the rest of the game. Are you okay with that?"

"Eh, sure, Coach C," he replied. 

"If you're feeling nervous or anything, all you have to do when the ball comes close to you is kick it away from our goal where Jeremiah is standing." He pointed, quickly, over at his goalie. "Understand?" 

Josh nodded. "Just kick it away from the other team, basically. Right?" 

"There you go. Sub, Ref!"

Once Joshua ran onto the field, he felt his blood "rise" up. That was typical of the moment. It felt strange to him, though. Josh didn't embrace the adrenaline spike as a motivating factor for "why" he played--he didn't quite live for that cool feeling. He just knew it came to him when he ran on--but in an unusual way. In an uncertain way. 

And anybody, from Randy and Julie to Gabby and Simon, could just sense that he wasn't quite comfortable on the field. Mr. and Mrs. Reed didn't bother with those feelings. They knew their son best, after all.

But, Josh did as Collins asked: guarded his team by getting rid of the ball however he could. 

Minutes later, in the second half, Troy added 2 more, and Jackson added another. "Yeah!! Go Stallions!! Way to go!! You did it!!" were among the shouts of cheer and joy from the parentals on the sidelines when the ball went in each of the 3 times. All Joshua remembered was hearing a lot of cheering and running with his teammates, congratulating the friends who scored, and running back. He had no idea, really, how the ball went in, only that it did.

When the Ref blew the whistle a few moments of time later, 7 to 2 was the final score. 

Everyone in a Stallions-colored jersey jumped for joy. Everyone on the sidelines wearing a Stallions shirt or something along the teams' colors (light blue and purple) was doing much adieu of the same. 

And as the team lined up to shake the hands of the Golden Eagles, Joshua clearly remembered seeing looks of gracious disappointment in the other player's eyes. It wasn't that he understood how they felt, because he was on the winning side. It was that he felt odd about how he contributed to his team winning, not having scored but having been on the victorious. 

A short while later, the team was given their trophy. Soon thereafter, the fields were empty and everyone went about their separate ways.

"I felt happy, at least," he told his dad. "We won! That was cool."

"It certainly was, Joshua," Randy replied.

"You did a good job, in doing what Coach Collins asked you, sweetheart," Julie contributed.

"You excited or happy about the trophy you all got?" Randy asked, wanting to know if his son felt motivated or acknowledged by the validation of his efforts through the physical tool, the physical memoir.

"I like it, Dad," Joshua said. "But when we get back, I think I want to spend the rest of the summer time, however much I can, reading and learning about new things."

"Are you sure, honey?" Julie asked. "You don't want to have your friends over for a little celebration party or something like that?"

"A few of them," Joshua said. "That's okay. But nothing huge with all of them. Soon, though, I'd rather make a list of books I want to read and things to explore when I grow up. But I think I'm going to sleep until we get home."

And with that, he tilted his head to the side and slowly drifted off to a slumber.

And with that, Mr. and Mrs. Reed looked at each other knowing their kid had some sense to him, or at least something that resembled sense. An exchange of smiles was all that had to be shared. Ex

Author's Note

I wrote this on Memorial Day 2016. I added more here than the original typewriter version I first composed. Any thoughts on improving the story or developing it further are welcomed.