My youngest son skipped three days of sports practice without expressing why. I observed him sitting alone at the field edge from afar, desperate to comprehend. I ran to him as a gang cornered him, but they scattered like birds.
Questioning his well-being, I approached him warily. Despite his gloomy appearance, he muttered that it was fine. His weak smile dismissed me, but my paternal instincts were unaffected.
Later that night, I questioned his coach for information. The coach said sports were fine but team activities caused friction. Something beyond the game was bothering him.
Determined, I watched the next practice quietly. Perhaps seeing for myself would solve the enigma. My heart broke witnessing my baby suffer alone, and I was determined to protect him.
I arrived early the next afternoon to find a quiet area away from the field. My boy appeared slow and uncertain. I saw kids whispering and pointing, which broke my heart.
My son stayed back when one of the older kids invited him to join the huddle. They smirked like making a hidden joke, excluding him. I felt rage, veiled by the urge to help.
My son seemed to alternate between following instructions and monitoring his peers throughout practice. A nearby student’s gentle jab knocked him down. With annoyance, he rose up and brushed the dirt off his hands.
I asked him again at home that night. Being under pressure made it hard to stay calm. Why not practice anymore?
Hopeful, I gently probed him for something. After exhaling, he said, “It’s the groupies. They mock me for not being swift or powerful enough for the team.” Voice trembled with vulnerability.
I felt comfort and grief as he shared his burden. I told him practice and mistakes help everyone progress. I urged him to speak out against bullying.
The next day, I spoke with teammates’ parents. They appreciated the warning about practice dynamics. Some bullies were oblivious of the impact, guided by sour peer banter.
We faced it head-on, promoting kindness and support. After some convincing, the kids realized how harmful words hurt. With newfound enthusiasm, I encouraged my son to attempt sports again.
“Enjoy the game, not prove yourself,” I advised. “Tell them how words made you feel.”
My youngster practiced nervously. Still holding my breath, I looked from afar.
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