April 2, 2019 – I started a new job 2 1/2 weeks ago. My cubicle is on the 5th floor, overlooking a green space. It’s rather nice. A lot of people cut through it – going from point A to point B. People walk their dogs. I’ve also noticed some people taking advantage of the warmer(?) weather and just sitting on the benches.
This afternoon, I happened to look out and see a father and his young child. I’m assuming the child was a girl because her jacket was pink. I don’t want to gender stereotype but, for the purposes of this story, I’m saying the child was a girl. By the way she was walking, I’d assume she was possibly 2 years old.
The father had a soccer ball and he was kicking it around. The ball was about 1/2 the size of the girl. He was trying to show her how to play. The daughter wanted nothing to do with the ball. The father would kick it towards her and then he’d run – showing her what she should do. Occasionally, he’d bounce the ball around her. At one point, I thought he was going to hit her by mistake. Nothing. She’d either walk the other way or just sit down. No interest.
A few of us with window seats watched and laughed. We joked that this little girl was not going to grow up to be a soccer player. As my lunch hour progressed, the father sat down on the bench and was content to let his daughter just wander around the park. At one point, she wandered out of my view and I thought that this is when bad things happen. I even started to get anxious; staring and straining to catch a glimpse of the pink jacket. A minute later she came back into view.
After a while, the father picked the daughter up. I thought to myself, “They’re leaving.” But no. The father hadn’t given up on the soccer lesson. He picked up his daughter and then placed her in front of the ball. Then he lifted her underneath her arms and swung her to get her to kick the ball. Then he put her down; expecting her to chase the ball. The daughter stood there. So he picked her up, carried her over to the ball and repeated swinging her to mimic kicking the ball. He put her down. She must have clued in what he wanted her to do. She walked over to the ball and kicked it. We all laughed, “Success!” Then she kicked the ball. But this time she didn’t chase the ball. She sat down as if to say “I’m done with this.”
So the father just let her sit there and he played by himself. Eventually they both got tired of the game, or lack thereof, and he picked up his daughter and he sat on the bench; holding her in his lap. I wondered what he said. Were they words of encouragement that eventually she’d get it? Were they words of disappointment? Did he say nothing and just enjoy the sunshine and the peaceful moment with his daughter?
I had mixed feelings as I watched all of this unfold. I admired the father for his persistence. However, I had to wonder why he wouldn’t stop. At some point, he had to realize that it just wasn’t going to happen. Was it a battle of wills that he was determined to win or was it more simpler and genuine – he wanted her to experience a sport that he loved and wanted to do something together?
Diary of a DOW 