On Saturday morning, Stanton pulled into the mostly empty parking lot of the Afrim's Sports Park in Colonie. It was 7:29 a.m., and our 9-year-old daughter, Anna, was playing in a Presidents' Day weekend soccer tournament that began at 8 a.m.
"Please be there by 7:30," Anna's soccer coach had told the team.
Like anyone else, I'd rather not "be" anywhere by 7:30 on a Saturday morning. Except, of course, my breakfast-nook table, slowly enjoying several cups of coffee.
But I love watching Anna play soccer (and her older sister, Grace, play lacrosse), and cheering them on. So on Saturday, when Stanton nudged me awake around 6:15, I got moving much faster than usual for a weekend morning.
The four of us left our house a little after 7. Stanton punched "Afrim's" into his car's navigation system, and an address for NYSUT Drive in Latham popped up.
"Stan, that's wrong," I said. I hadn't yet sipped any of the coffee from the travel mug in my hands, so no caffeine was tempering my just-woke-up personality. "Last night you said we have to go to the Afrim's in Colonie." (There are five Afrim's sports facilities in New York's Capital Region.)
Stanton grunted. "I know, I know. I was just about to change the address." He began clicking on the navigation system.
"Are we going to the right place?" Anna asked from the backseat.
"Now we are," I replied. "Don't worry, honey: Mom made sure."
"Mel, I was going to..."
"Honey, I was just kidding."
"Ha, ha." Stanton began driving to the Colonie Afrim's; I began drinking my coffee.
Like anyone else, I'd rather not "be" anywhere by 7:30 on a Saturday morning.
So it was 7:30 a.m., and Stanton, the girls and I walked into the Colonie Afrim's. Earlier, Stanton had printed out the flyer for the Presidents' Day tournament, and now he looked at it. "Anna's first game is on Field 2," he said.
The four of us made our way to Field 2, one of several indoor fields in the facility. Anna's team color is orange; there were no other orange jerseys on Field 2.
"Would you look at that," Stanton said, smiling with self-satisfaction. "The Leddys are the first to arrive."
Huh. I glanced at my phone. It was now 7:34 a.m.
It felt weird to me that we were the only people on Field 2. Not even the coach was here yet...?
"When you tell the Leddys to be somewhere by a certain time," Stanton continued, "the Leddys will be there."
By this point, I had consumed about one-quarter of the coffee in my 20-ounce travel mug. I had become, consequently, a normal human being. "Stan," I said gently, "is it possible we're at the wrong Afrim's?"
Stanton paused.
Behind us, Grace and Anna were kicking Anna's soccer ball around. Otherwise, Field 2 remained empty—empty of other orange jerseys, empty of the opposing team, empty of spectators and refs and anyone.
"Uh..." Stanton frowned. "I'll be right back."
I watched as he jogged across Field 2, through the revolving doors to the lobby of the facility.
Less than a minute later, Stanton reappeared through the revolving doors, this time in a sprint back to the girls and me. "We have to go," he said.
I raised my eyebrows; Stanton nodded. "We're at the wrong Afrim's," he confirmed.
Mm-hmm—looking at empty Field 2, that made more sense to me than "The Leddys are the first to arrive."
The Leddys were, in fact, in the wrong location.
The soccer tournament was actually happening at the Afrim's location in Albany, which was only 3.2 miles away. We were really close—but still, Anna would be arriving minutes before the first game started.
"Agh," Stanton said, driving toward the Albany Afrim's.
I could tell Anna was concerned too. "Stan, Annie, this is 9-year-old soccer," I pointed out. "It's OK."
"You know," Stanton said, "I checked the message in the sports app last night. It said the Colonie Afrim's. But..."
"But what?" Anna wondered.
Stanton grunted. "I just checked the sports app a few minutes ago, and Brittany posted a new message super early this morning—which I saw just now—that had the new location, Albany Afrim's. It would be nice to have all the information at the same time, you know?"
"No, no, no." I held up my hands. "No, we cannot blame Brittany that we went to the wrong Afrim's this morning."
"Why not?" Grace asked.
I sighed. As many of you know, I'm the (volunteer) secretary for Anna's elementary school PTA. Thus, I empathize with parent volunteers, many of whom find themselves in these roles because nobody else could (or would) lend a hand.
I tried to explain to my family:
"Brittany is the parent volunteer. That's the first thing. Nobody else, including Dad and me, wants to be in charge of sending out messages through the sports app, confirming the details are correct, dealing with the technical difficulties that come up, on and on and on."
Stanton nodded his agreement.
"We were the only people who went to the wrong Afrim's this morning," I continued. "Somehow, everyone else managed to figure out what to do." They had turned on the app notifications so that they would see when Brittany posted a new message. They checked their new messages, and beyond that, they read the messages.
"I should have checked the app for any new messages once more before we left," Stanton acknowledged.
"But we're almost to the right Afrim's," I said. "No big deal."
Maybe the Leddys don't always arrive at the correct location.
Maybe Melissa Leddy isn't a normal human being until she drinks one-quarter of the coffee in her 20-ounce travel mug.
But one thing is true, friends: The Leddys do not blame the parent volunteers for their children's sports teams or schools.
Stanton pulled up to the entrance of the Albany Afrim's. It was almost 8 a.m., and of course, the parking lot was packed.
I swiveled in the passenger seat to face my older daughter. "Please take Anna inside," I told Grace. "Find her team—look for the orange jerseys—and Dad and I will be there in a few minutes."
Grace nodded. "Got it."
I wished Anna good luck, and watched as the girls dashed inside.
Stanton found a parking spot. We headed inside, in search of orange jerseys.
As of 8:02 a.m., all four Leddys had arrived at the right location.
Photo credit: Pixabay
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