Words from my heart
For over thirty years, I’ve tried unsuccessfully to keep grass out of my house, the kind that gets tracked in by the people I live with, the people I love. Yes, I’ve tracked in my fair share, but . . . I’m the mom. Case closed.
When my kids were small, they were grass magnets—cutest magnets ever—but when they followed Jaime’s footsteps by becoming soccer players, WELL! Grass filled our home faster than I could shout WIPE YOUR FEET! Soccer literally kicked the grass issue into high-maintenance gear.
On days when graminoids got tracked into the house, you’d hear me yelling, “SOMEBODY HAS GRASS ON THEIR SHOES!” (I often didn’t know who the culprit was.) Over time, my rebukes morphed into weak, conceding cries. Now I simply wave my white flag and whine, “Somebody has grass on their shoes . . . again.”
Today, there is less grass in my home. My children are grown and have moved out. I miss them—not the grass. Orlando and Julie have become soccer coaches like their dad, and when they stop by, a few blades still sneak in. Gabriel (the grassy skateboarder) lives in SoCal and plays Sunday league on artificial turf, so he’s off the hook. But whether you’re a player or coach, it doesn’t matter.
Grass and soccer are inseparable.
Don’t get me wrong. I’m happy that my husband and children have been involved in a heart-healthy sport. It’s just that grass on carpet drives me up a wall—at least it did until last Thursday. On November 21, Jaime’s Fresno Pacific soccer team competed in a nerve-racking regional championship against rival Azusa Pacific. FPU won 1-0 in thrilling fashion and earned a trip to Florida as top seed in the NCCAA National Soccer Tournament (National Christian College Athletic Association). What a sweet win!
Like usual, I left the field before Jaime. He always stays until the end, right before the lights go out. He loves connecting with event staff, coaches, players, parents, and fans. And he simply loves the pitch. For him, it’s a sacred spot.
When Jaime finally walked through the back door that night, I saw him checking his feet. He quickly said, “Oh, sorry dear—I’ve got grass on my shoes.” I picked up a small clump, ready to be annoyed. But I couldn’t. How could I be annoyed after they had just won such an amazing game? How could I be annoyed when I know how hard Jaime works to reach these unforgettable moments? How could I be annoyed when I know he impacts lives through the game of soccer?
This wasn’t the first soccer title won on home turf. Yet for some reason, this time, my eyes were opened. I saw the grass in a new way. That little clump between my fingers was championship grass—grass tracked in from Ramirez Field by PacWest Co-Coach of the Year, Jaime Antonio Ramírez-Macías . . .
my amazing husband.