"Station wagon. The neighbors said you had a wagon. You do own a station wagon, don't you?"
"Yes, but what has..."
"Oh, good. You're the only father in the neighborhood with a station wagon."
Ego deflated, I considered resigning, but I had already told my son I was going to be his coach.
Zimmer's "lots of kids, lots of interest" translated into two kids who had already signed up, and my own. When I called the first, his mother said he had changed his mind. The second was interested. "Great," I shouted. I only needed 10 more players.
I got on the phone to likely parents.
"No, thank you. The soccer coach was too hard on him. We're taking a break from coaches."
"Not this year, call us next year."
"And who are you to be coaching my son?"
Undaunted, I kept calling, eventually dipping down to recruit six second-graders for our third-grade team. Later on, those kids would provide the balm in an ocean of ache.