Toby Joe and I love soccer. We’re huge fans of the English Premier League. Today’s UEFA final between Barça and Manchester United is a match I’ve been looking forward to for quite some time. I’m giddy with excitement, watching the clock and preparing snacks. I really think this one is going to be awesome. Emory and I will probably watch it together once he gets home from school.
Every time Emory sees a soccer match on TV he yells, “OCCAH! OCCAH!!!” And I beam with delight.
I was so excited about this I signed him for a toddler soccer league this summer. How that’s going to be possible—like, how these people plan on getting a bunch of 2-year-olds to play something remotely resembling soccer—that’s not for me to figure out. Thankfully, that’s not my job. Laughing about it? Definitely my job. Organizing it? Not so much.
Toby Joe and I also watch a lot of college football. Pretty much every Saturday in fall we’ll have a football game on the TV. We really look forward to Penn State.
But, I still wouldn’t call us as a very “sporty family”. We don’t watch basketball, hockey makes me nervous, and baseball tends to bore us both. Don’t get me wrong, I love attending live baseball games—partly because I love overpriced, domestic beer—but I don’t particularly enjoy watching it on TV.
But this weekend a Mets game made its way onto our TV somehow. They were playing Boston. So we left it on, because while baseball isn’t particularly entertaining for us, Boston fans usually are.
Naturally, because we wanted Emory to love soccer, he became obsessed with baseball. Just like that. He’s so into it, I had to warn his teachers just this morning about his desire to swing everything in sight. I told them that it’s in their best interest they keep all long, hard objects out of his reach. For long, hard objects are no longer just broomsticks, lint-rollers or hairbrushes; they’re baseball bats. And baseball bats are meant to be swung! And swinging hurts people. Believe me.
“Why baseball?” I have scoffed “Where did I go wrong?” I have cried. “Is this because I pushed too hard for soccer? Why, Emory? Why?” I have begged. To no avail.
“BEEBALL MAMA! BEEBALL!!”
I’m coming to terms with his desire for baseball over soccer. I suppose I can deal with baseball. And I’ll put him on a t-ball team the moment he’s old enough. I want my kid to do whatever it is he pleases. If baseball becomes his passion, I will give him my blessing.
But if he becomes a Red Sox fan, we’re putting him up for adoption.
Mihow 
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