It is with great reluctance that I have had to accept the currently popular label of Soccer Mom. Yes, I have a mini-van, overflowing with old Happy Meal toys, wet wipes and emergency gold fish snacks. I am also a mother to two children who constantly need to be schlepped around town, and I actually have a son who plays soccer. I am often found standing on the sidelines through wind and rain at games cheering him on and have sat through many practices with my college books open as I try to fit it all in.Yet I can’t help balking at this label. Perhaps it is because it seems to me to be the final nail in my cool person coffin as I head into the Land of Past It. By entering the world of a Mom, I left behind a more carefree life, where I was a trendy, well groomed, and interesting conversationalist. Then I headed into a different life, still fulfilling but also a huge step away from that person to whom I will never return. So as I now find myself labeled as a Soccer Mom, I feel the overwhelming urge to hold up my over-filled day planner and scream, “NO!”
To convince myself this label is a passing phase, I even nonchalantly looked “Soccer Mom” up in Webster’s Dictionary, feeling sure it would not be there; alas, there it was in black and white: “a typically suburban mother who accompanies her children to their soccer games and is considered as part of a significant voting bloc or demographic group.”
So to add to my responsibilities of driving the kids around, I unknowingly find myself an elite member of a demographic group who can apparently sway the politics of this country.
So here I stand, and I want to say to my fellow soccer moms, whether you like this title or not (I hear some do!), we must join together and fight the rumors that we cannot drive our oversized taxis. Dispel the belief that we have no personality of our own and vow that while we continue to support our kids, we will fervently fight the urge to reach for the twin-set and pearls.