Well Intended

My parents and Josh came for a visit last weekend, and I thought it might be fun to go to an FC Dallas Soccer game. I knew my family would enjoy it and was pretty sure Mason would as well. When I told Mason what we were going to do he said he didn't want to watch the game, he wanted to play. I tried to explain that it didn't work that way, but he just kept saying that he was good at soccer. I left it at that and just laughed to myself. At the game Mason was all decked out. My sister had gotten him some soccer shorts and my parents bought him a jersey. Eventhough he looked cute, I think the "uniform" sealed the deal. Mason stood at the railing asking to go on the field over and over. No matter how we tried to explain it (basically, those guys are professionals, you're not even three, there are no other kids out there, and you would get run over) he just kept saying he was good at soccer, too. He was heartborken. He didn't throw a fit, he just sobbed and had the saddest face I've ever seen. I finally took him to the bathroom and told him we were going to stay in there and not get to watch the game if he didn't quit. His crying episode ended pretty soon after that, and the rest of the game was quite enjoyable. Mason's final conclusion was, "When I am a big boy, I'm going to watch Sponge Bob and play soccer."