Team Earth

I really do love the World Cup.

Understand that, as an American, I didn't even realize they HAD a World Cup for soccer until a few years ago. And cared even less.

And then it came to Germany four years ago and captured my heart. I was nine months pregnant with twins. Just waiting. And waiting. And waiting. Because EVERYONE had reassured me that they would come at 35 weeks. And waiting. And waiting.

And those boys - the German team - waited with me. (I wasn't on speaking terms with two inside of me anymore. This was MY body - it was time to GET OUT!)

Germany itself came alive that summer too. And presented a whole new image to the world. We were cute, and naive and charming. The world loved us.

And we loved ourselves. Suddenly, it was okay to hang the German flag up again. And hang it out of your car. And stick it to your face. And wear it. We were allowed to be proud, allowed to be happy about who we were.

"Geschichte," they wistfully tell you when you mention that we should be able to do this more often than once every two years. (Four years for the World Cup and two for the European Cup.) "History." Why Germans don't display their flags like people in other countries do. Why they are always a little embarrassed - and apologetic - to show any amount of national pride or spirit at all.

Well good Lord, if the Americans and Brits can fly our flags, right?!

History.

The thing is that Germany scares us more than most because it is so recent, and because it reminds us of what we, ourselves, are capable of. It's not the destruction of the native Americans centuries ago or the imperialism of the British over India. It's not slavery and its not apartheid. And it's not dark-skinned, Africans in Rwanda slaughtering eachother with machetes or Muslims battling it out in the Middle East or Eastern Europe.

It's not the black man, or the yellow man, or some remote tribe far away. It's us. It is white, Christian people from one of the most highly developed countries in the modern, Western world, a country that brought us music and art, literature, science and technology. It is US, systematically slaughtering people who weren't all that much different than us - but different enough apparently - only three generations ago.

It's too close.

Two years ago I watched the European Cup games with other patients in the psychiatric ward. The common room was filled with all of us, Turkish and Polish, German and French, schizophrenic, bipolar and suicidal, drug addicts and alcholics, teenagers, men, women and the elderly. And we got together to watch the games. It was really nice.

We need that. We all need that. A feeling of unity. A feeling of hope. A sense of being part of something greater than ourselves.

Today the Internet - and facebook - binds us more closely than ever before. And my multi-culti circle of family and friends can choose their battles. We had the Olivo's over to watch the South Africa/Mexico game this afternoon. Omar is Mexican-American. Tracy is British. But I have a big, soft spot for Anita, and Lynn-Ann and Liesl and Beulah and their families who have had to leave their beautiful homeland of South Africa because of political and economic strife and frankly, just plain violence. It's okay - Tracy and I were just checking out the players anyway. Good-looking African boys versus good-looking Hispanic boys. It really doesn't get any better than that!

Tomorrow I play American......but may have the Olivo's over anyway. As long as Tracy and I are rooting for the best-looking player in the shortest shorts - we're rooting for the same thing!!!

And Sunday.....family histories collide as Germany plays Australia. Although I've already pulled all the boys to my side with generous applications of face paint and a cool Michael Ballack T-shirt. Let's see Damon paint the Southern Cross on Ryan's face and see how long she roots for Australia!

But see. It's fun. More so than the Olympics (C'mon - does ANYONE really watch the Olympics?!) the World Cup draws us all together for a few months every four summers.

The flags are out again in Germany. And we're rooting for our boys.

"Geschichte" is not forgotten. You want to talk about forgetting history, take a look at Somalia or Nigeria. Any idea what atrocities are going on there, RIGHT NOW? "Geschichte" should not be forgotten.

But the world can only move forward together. We all need a sense of who we are, as a country, and as a member of the larger world community.

Can flags and soccer do that? I don't know. I do know they won't heal the open wound in the earth off the Gulf of Mexico. I do know they won't end the war in Afgahnistan, solve the problem of world poverty, prevent the spread of AIDS or cure cancer.

But it's nice to see the flags in Germany again this summer. And nice to see us smile and root for something TOGETHER, as a country and as a community of people.

It's what we got. And if a bunch of boys chasing a ball around the field brings us closer together, well maybe, just maybe, we can work together on some of that other stuff too.

Not Your Average Mom

I have my days.

Soccer days, baseball days, days at the barn and days baking for the class picnic.

Like a "good" mom.

Then there are the other days.

Days I don't feel like doing what I am "supposed" to do.

So the kids eat icecream BEFORE lunch. And get to play with body paint. (By which I mean regular watercolors applied to back and belly.) Or get to jump up and down on the bed naked.

They get to take water outside to the sandbox. And sand inside to their play kitchen.

The rules are "be kind" and "try not to make too too much of a mess."

My kids ARE kind. And they know how to grab the paper towels and wipe up most spills before I find out about them.

So, I'm fairly pleased with the results.

Today we got ready for Germany's first World Cup Soccer match in South Africa on Sunday. Against Australia. As a family boasting passports to both, we had a family discussion on who to root for. Damon, our almost-native Australian, at first convinced the older two to root for Australia. But, believe it or not, I REALLY REALLY LOVE my German team. Those boys were with me - and all of Germany - the summer Aidan and Matthew were born.

So I put on my Michael Ballack T-shirt, number 13. (Don't sweat it, honey, you'll still be hot playing for a German team instead of in England.) Then I pulled out the German flag face paint. Both cheeks. Andrew promptly switched sides at the sight of the facepaint and then I painted the Australian flag on Ryan. (The southern cross on her face, a semblance of the British flag on her left forehead and streaks of blue all over.)

I've promised to paint them for school again tomorrow. Can't wait to hear how Ryan's day goes! But then again, she's not your average kid either!

Just now she came to me - the Southern Cross really suits her, by the way - and asked me what to do with her pink, plastic Disney princess thermos.

"It's starting to get a little moldy at the top here," she pointed out. "Should I just throw it away?"

THAT'S MY GIRL!

(Although I did take it from her and wash it in the sink - I am SO PROUD she has been listening to our talks on 'not taking it with you.')

Adventures await. And I do believe our "not supposed" to days have prepared my kids for all the fun that lies ahead. Rules - and kitchen gadgets - are nice sometimes. But they're not ALL life has to offer. My kids know that.

Youth Sports - Soccer

Spring is here and with it the outdoor soccer season. Soccer is to the rest of the world what baseball is to America. As American boys and girls get out their bats and gloves, the rest of us change from indoor sneakers to cleats, pick up the same soccer ball we've been playing with indoors all winter, and head outdoors. This a serious sport; you don't stop playing just because the weather gets cold and the ground freezes up. You move inside, for cramped standing room only tournaments inside local gymnasiums.

German mothers have been bundling up their children in hats and scarves and gloves since October, something about catching cold if any body surface is exposed to the elements after September 30. (Funny enough, the winters here in southern Germany are actually rather mild in comparison to where I grew up in Connecticut; rarely do we have a day below 0 C/32 F) But once the sun comes out, literally days after the hats and scarves are packed away, out comes the sun screen and the brimmed hats. Something about sunburns, although my German father can testify that a German sunburn has nothing to compare with a Caribbean sunburn! My family runs around barefaced and uncreamed, thrilled to finally see the sun again and to feel the warmth on our skin. The Germans think we are nuts - but I have never had a child burn in Germany. It's 50 to 65 degrees Fahrenheit, we're a continent away from the equator; how close can the sun actually be?

I wonder about a people who take cover from the cold AND from the sun.

So when it started hailing last Tuesday, in the middle of Andrew's second outdoor soccer practice of the season, I figured I'd better head out to pick him up. Better yet, I sent my husband. I figured Andrew would either show up at our door, driven home by a parent who had stayed to watch the practice, or we'd find him huddled in somebody's car, waiting for us to come and get him.

Damon called me laughing. They still had half an hour of practice left. Rain-drenched and mud-soaked, the kids were still running drills under a row of trees in order to provide some protection from the hail. After all, it was small hail. And it was soccer.

On Monday I'd had a phone call from a friend, celebrating the fact that our "A" team had won two out of three games last Saturday, soundly thrashing one team 8-0. Never mind that that team was our own "B" team composed of friends and neighobors; no hard feelings, but we'd still kicked their butts. She then proceeeded to give me play-by-play accounts of all three games; including the one we lost 3 -4; along with suggestions on improved tactics and feedback on each player's strengths and weaknesses. Mind you, these boys - and one girl - are SEVEN years old!

My daughter's third grade standardized tests - conducted in all three third grade classes - were postponed a week because the boys had a soccer game during the first scheduled week.

I personally don't enjoy the soccer games. Andrew plays goalie - and while he LOVES it - I can't stand the pressure. I certainly don't approve of the intense competition - the emphasisis on winning - at such a young age.

But I do recall fondly the summer of 2006, when I was full-term pregnant with the twins, and the World Soccer Cup took place here in Germany. Germany's little team - not expected to win - came close, working its way up against more experienced world teams. The boys - and their coach - became national heroes. The coach, Jurgen Klinsmann, came from our southern neck of the woods. And I still wear my Michael Ballack T-shirt to this day. Never mind that the one now coaches for Munich and the other plays for Chelsea, England. For a time, they belonged to all of us.

Screens were set up in squares, in restuarants, and even in the hospital. German flags flew from cars and homes, were worn on T-shirts and on tattoed faces. People smiled. Everyone was united. Germany lost to Italy - on July 4, the day the twins were born. But our third place finish was celebrated with more enthusiasm than France's 2nd place finish was celebrated in France. (They, too, succumbed to Italy.) First place would have been unbelievabely sweet, but it was about more than winning. It was about a community spirit that is rarely seen here in Germany. We saw ourselves as a team, and the rest of the world saw us - momentarily - as a naive, happy, fairy-tale ending.

We need more of those moments. And soccer - known as football everywhere except for in America - provides them.

I'd been thinking of making T-shirts for the boys. "REMINDER: My children will grow up to pay your retirement benefits." But now I've got a better one. "PATIENCE: One of these kids could grow up to win the World Soccer Cup for Germany."

It might be Andrew Connor, or Orazio Sortino, or maybe even Ghazi Al Aani. (The best player on Andrew's team IS of pure German descent - and also a girl.) More essays in the last line - and I promise, they will follow!