One Saturday morning about five years ago, I took all my boys to the baseball field to sign my then-5 year old firstborn up for spring baseball. While I struggled to decide what size hat and tiny baseball pants he would need so I could complete the forms, a few of the coaches who were pacing around the crowd approached me.
“Hey, how old is that guy?” one coach asked, pointing to my second son, Charlie. “Does he play?” I looked up at them over the head of my newborn, asleep on my chest in his Ergo. “Uh, he’s 3,” I answered slowly and incredulously. “No, he doesn’t play… anything.” Except Star Wars, I added in my head. And superheroes.
“Wow,” said one of the coaches, nodding his head with approval. “Listen, which high school are you zoned for? I coach football over at the local school. Let me know if he’s heading my way.” I stared at him, smiled because I didn’t know how else to respond, and silently steered my children toward another corner of the fray, away from the crazy coaches who wanted to recruit my preschooler for high school football eleven years early.
Once upon a time in Spain there was a little bull and his name was Ferdinand.
My now-8 year old Charlie has been asking for the same bedtime book every night lately: The Story of Ferdinand, by Munro Leaf. Every night, I read it to him and his little brother — the boy who was once that baby in an Ergo — and they end my sentences for me.
All the other little bulls he lived with would run and jump and butt their heads together, but not Ferdinand.
When he was four, we signed my Charlie up for soccer. It seemed like a good beginner sport, and some of his preschool classmates were playing too. He was excited to wear the jersey and to have a team, and his coaches were excited because he was at least a head taller than anyone else on the field. But every Saturday, we would trek out to the soccer fields, and Charlie would walk — not run — onto the field reluctantly. Instead of going for the ball, he would lag behind the pack. His coaches would yell, “Go after the ball! Get to the ball! Run, Charlie!” and he would instead search the sidelines for me and jog over to where I was sitting. “Is it snack time yet?” he would ask me with desperate hope in his eyes. His coaches’ shoulders sagged. He never even kicked the ball one time that season. He did, however, greatly enjoy the cupcake and trophy he received on the last day.
Sometimes, his mother, who was a cow, would worry about him.
At six, we thought we had found Charlie’s sport. My son loves to swim. His father swam in high school and college, and it seemed to make sense that our children might follow suit. We signed the boys up for the year-round swim team and we attended practices three days a week for months on end. But while the other kids learned their strokes carefully and whipped their arms through the water like curved swords, racing ambitiously toward the wall, my son had a tendency to… well, dip. And cruise. And dive to the bottom now and then, like a dolphin. His young, boyish coach’s voice would ring out across the pool lanes: “Hey Charlie, what’re you doing? Charlie? Hey Charlie, how about freestyle?” But Charlie rarely heard him, because he kept his head underwater. He was swimming to the beat of his own (slow, perhaps reggae?) drum.
But Ferdinand would shake his head. “I like it better here where I can just sit quietly and smell the flowers.”
Eventually, Charlie stopped swimming. For a while, he took karate twice a week. He tried flag football. Finally, this year, we decided he would take a cartooning class that he absolutely loves at the local art school every Saturday morning and just one hour of group tennis one time a week.
Charlie is a tall, broad child. He looks like a natural-born lineman or a burly water polo player in the making. He might make an excellent heavyweight rower one day, like his uncle. But at the moment, he wants nothing more than to spend his afternoons at home, playing in our backyard or drawing elaborate pictures of his own made-up characters and worlds or indulging in Minecraft with his brothers or friends. It takes some restraint, in this parenting environment and especially where we live, to have confidence in our decision let Charlie be who he is and not expect him to play a sport. At times, I still have small, fluttery waves of panic when I hear about his classmates and their travel teams, their game-winning catches, and their new personal best times. I wonder if Charlie is missing out, falling behind, or if I should be pushing him harder.
His mother saw that [Ferdinand] was not lonesome, and because she was an understanding mother, even though she was a cow, she let him just sit there and be happy.
But what we have learned and accepted, over time, is that Charlie is not — or not yet — interested in competitive sports. He is our Ferdinand the bull. He wants to draw. He wants to make up elaborate, imaginative “games” in his head and act them out in the yard. He wants to sit on the floor of the family room with his Lego minifigures and build his own creations — he prefers that to following the instructions to build sets. He wants to make funny faces for his baby sister and make her giggle and squeal. He doesn’t, however, want to go to a practice, or run plays, or do drills. I want him to be physically active, and I like that he is now acquiring a skill in a social sport like tennis that he can use for the rest of his life. I know, though, that no matter how much he resembles the dream of Pop Warner coaches everywhere, my son is not that kid. That, we have decided, is just fine. There is a place in the world for the Ferdinands. He is quite the artist and quite the storyteller. I like him the way he is, and more importantly, he likes himself the way he is. He doesn’t think he needs to be an athlete.
“This is my favorite part,” Charlie says with a smile as I turn the page in the dim light of his bedroom.
And for all I know he is sitting there still, under his favorite cork tree, smelling the flowers just quietly.
He is very happy.
Oh, my … crying. I think the biggest gift we can give our children is to SEE them, to HEAR them, to HONOR them for who they are. To me, this is a parable about your doing that for Charlie. Bravo, mama. xox
Ok. This may be my favorite thing of yours that I’ve ever read. I absolutely believe that there is a place for the Ferdinands of the world. And it is a magical, wonderful place. My son was much like Charlie when he was younger. Artist, builder, creator, and much taller and broader in the shoulders than the other boys his age.. He is now thirteen and has found his competitive drive (not that we were looking for it). He has also found a love for football. I, however, have not. I sit on the sidelines and flinch and twitch with each play. But I will sit on the sidelines and watch him do what HE loves, and I will cheer him on, because that’s what we mothers do. (And then I will buy him more art supplies for his birthday)
Beautiful piece. Just beautiful.
Allison, I loved this post. I loved the Ferndinand story woven in with Charlie’s story. I’m completely flabbergasted though by the coach trying to recruit your 3 year old for high school football! What is the world coming to?
Oh my. Oh my friend. Love this so much. xo
Lovely, lovely piece. I’m not yet sure whether my kids are Ferdinands, but I hope I have the wisdom to tell the difference. 🙂
I need to stop reading your posts while at work. I tear up every time. 🙂
My boy, my only son and oldest of the bunch is definitely a “Ferdinand”. We tried soccer when he was young, thought swimming might be for him and starting this year, golf. But he just doesn’t care for sports and I for one am not pushing him. Like you, I sometimes wonder if i should be doing more hearing about so many other kids and the sports they play. It is what it is.
Beautiful. Just, beautiful.
Allison,
Great blog. Very moving. Ferdinand is one of my all time favorites. These types of stories are what we talk about on our podcast. Thank you so much for sharing!
Todd
Beautiful, as always. I so hear you on the wondering and the “should we be pushing more” and all that, but I know, as you do, that what we need to do for them is to hear and see what they are, and honor and respect that. He’s a lucky boy.
Beautiful post. I have a Ferdinand, too. 🙂
This may be one of my favorite things that you have ever written. What a brilliant, relatable way to frame this. What a lucky kid — and what lucky parents!
So beautiful, Allison. I can’t stop crying.
Thank you. I think I was Ferdinandina growing up. I’m glad my mom and dad loved me and encouraged me to be myself. Your writing is beautiful and touched my heart.
This really resonates with me both because I study competitive sports for kids and because my one-year-old son was just gifted this book. I found it spot on and beautifully written. Thank you for sharing and what a lucky guy Charlie is!
Allison, this is absolutely wonderful. I love the way your wove the Ferdinand story in, and I love the way you take the reader on a journey with you and your child. I too live in the South and know how crazy some Southern sports parents can be, so I applaud your decision to let Charlie be his own person.
Hi Allison,
This was so beautifully said. I have a 4 yr old and a 1 yr old and we are in the sport buffet stage with the 4 yr old. Trying a little soccer, a little swimming, a little gymnastics. On the sidelines at soccer on Saturday I asked my soccer loving husband when he started playing. Three, it turns out. Then he told me about one of his mom’s favorite pictures from a game, where all the other kids are clustered around the ball and he is lying on his back in the middle of the field looking at the sky. He ended up loving soccer and played until a knee injury in his thirties, but I gather it was a slow start. I love what you are doing for Charlie, and hope I am able to do as well by my kiddos.
Charlie is so lucky to have you as his Mom. How many of us see our Ferdinands for who they are?
Beautiful post, as always.
Hooray ! You’ve articulated what many parents really feel about competitive sports for young children, but few are brave enough to say out loud. I recommend the book Reclaiming Childhood, but William Crain. The author argues that intense preparation for the future has gotten out of hand. “Unpressured” time and opportunities to develop special qualities is very important !
Well, I was just over at Lindsey’s crying and now I’m over here at your place, crying. This post is a beautiful testament to you and your husband and your love and understanding of your child. I’m clapping. Beautiful, beautiful. beautiful. xoxo
Yes, I am in good company, tearing up at my computer.
That has been my favorite book for almost 40 years now. I love the message and I love your piece, and I love you guys!
such beautiful and simple reminder to all parents. I love who you wove the lines of the book in at JUST the right places in your story telling. I don’t know you, but seems like he has a wonderful and contemplative mind like his mother.
Are you sure you didn’t write this about my son? He is 11 and a full head taller than his peers and broad as, well, a bull – not overweight, just dense. If we didn’t homeschool, I am sure that we would have been “recruited” too. But our boy is too busy creating full sized Roman standards out of pvc pipe and paper plates and gorgeous Roman costumes out of cardboard and grocery bags to have time for football. Karate? sure, that is fun because it is with his friends. Football? Soccer? He is even less enthusiastic than your son. And guess what, he is happy as a clam. His current favorite “sport” is FLL robotics where his rookie team just competed in the regional championship. The team of 10 boys and 1 girl had a blast. Guess all those millions of hours playing lego are amounting to some real skills! Jacob is happy that his sporty friends enjoy their sports but he is even happier when he is with his non-sport friends creating elaborate costumes, arranging “war games” with homemade weaponry (parent approved) and playing minecraft together. Different strokes for different folks. Jacob’s heroes? JPL guys and gals who landed a robot on Mars. He doesn’t even know the names of the local football players, much to the puzzlement of his peers and their fathers. Personally I’ll take JPLfor my heroes any day.
Oh, how I relate to every single word of this – well, except for the gracefully seeing and acknowledging my own child’s unique gifts rather before we had a screaming, crying showdown over preschool soccer. (Yeah, I’m that mom.) I’ve got it now, but it took a few bumps before I started to celebrate my own Ferdinand for the awesome little bull he is. Love this post. xo
Not sure how I ended up at this essay – Facebook? Twitter? – but what a lovely place to find myself…
In this age of over-parenting, it is often hard to sit back and let our kids decide who they are going to be. As relatively new mom, I appreciate this view from a slightly more experienced parent that speaks to my instincts to let my daughter be whoever she is going to be. And most of all, to foster that which really makes her happy rather than my idea of what makes her happy.
Nice post made my day!
My son didn’t have the disposition to handle the other kids on the team yelling at him if he “messed up”. He was very much like your Charlie when he was young, playing with legos, drawing, playing video games. As a teenager, he has a muscular build that makes him look like he plays sports, but he never got into any of them, even the ones where he didn’t have to worry about letting the team down. He has always been competitive, but he channels it into intellectual pursuits. As a 17yr old senior in high school this year, he is enrolled in a program where he gets college credit for a Biotech program and is working on a capstone project where he and his partner are trying to find a cure for Parkinsons. He plans to go on and get a PHD in Biomedical Engineering. He has a girlfriend. He is happy. I don’t feel like any of us missed out on anything. His friends from when he was younger, all of whom play sports, are now into partying (drinking & smoking pot) and I think that allowing our son to be the person HE wanted to be has helped him to not follow the rest of the group down that road. If you encourage your children to build on their own specific strengths and talents, they have more confidence to stand up to peer pressure than a child who is made to feel that they are somehow lacking if they don’t do what society expects. Keep letting your Ferdinand smell the flowers!
This is my first time visiting and I think this is one of my favorite things I’ve read in ages. Honoring exactly who are kids are is the best gift we can give them. How lucky he is to have you.
I’m bawling because this has always been my very favorite children’s story – before I had my daughter, before she was diagnosed with autism at 2 1/2. This book has been in her bookshelf since birth but somehow it got lost in the shuffle. I will be reading it to her tonight. How clear you just made things for me 🙂
Absolutely gorgeous, spot-on post. I am a mom and a principal of an elementary school. Our children are gifted in so many ways, yet so often we define them by such narrow measures. Thank you for a beautiful read!
Oh wow this is just so wonderful. My son is also very big for his age and his grandpa and uncles are already fighting to be his future “manager”. I KNOW that we should cherish who HE is not who WE want him to be and this story is a great and beautiful reminder. Keep on writing, you rock!!
so well put! thank you.
I want to hang out with your Charlie. He sounds awesome. It’s funny how we know the right thing to do (let him be) and yet we still have anxiety about it. I hope I can do the same for mine.
It makes me feel so sad that, in this country, we so over value athletics that boys like this need to be ‘accepted for who they are.’ (Health and fitness are wonderful but I see that as separate from competitive sports.) Your son sounds like such a wonderful and creative little boy and from your description of him, I can’t imagine feeling anything other than pride in who he is. Of course, I probably feel this way because you so closely described my brother. And you know what, my brother has grown into a wonderful man/husband/father/brother/son/friend despite never playing on a sports team in his life! He has a very creative and successful career, travels all over the world and lives a life that is very true to who he is. Good for you for embracing your child as he is and not trying to force him to be someone different!!
Wow, what a great post! We run a summer sports camp and sometimes see kids that just don’t have that passion for athletics, whose parents try and gently push them out of their comfort zones. Sometimes it works and the kids find a sport they enjoy, and sometimes it makes them feel isolated. It sounds like you’re doing a great job of exposing Charlie to lots of activities, and supporting him whatever he chooses, which is awesome. Thanks for sharing this story!
My husband is 6’3″ and has been so since about 13 years old. He is also a quiet, kind, artist type. He said from the second he walked into high school he was approached by every coach to play sports, but his skill level and interest never quite matched his build. One thing he was thankful for though was that even being a quiet and shy artist, he was never bothered by the other kids at school. Other kids always assumed he was something he was not, and therefore never bullied him and teased him about his introverted ways. I think that gift helped him get through a difficult period for every awkward boy. Whether your son will embrace his body for it’s stereotypical benefits or not, he will find other ways to appreciate it as he grows.