On fields of play, parents often find themselves on the outside looking in.

“How many do you think I should do?”

“Ten,” my son tells me.

“I can’t do ten! Seven.”

“Eight.”

“Seven.”

“Eight,” he says. “Or nothing.”

I park in the grass next to the soccer field, open the mini-van door and let him out. He dashes to join a dozen other nine- and ten-year-olds who jump, whirr and kick.

Do I remember dashing? Was there a time when my legs ached to run? They feel so hesitant now, so timid.

There are twelve vehicles parked in a zig-zag line along the east end of the church field where YMCA Co-Ed Youth Soccer Team #85 practices once a week. All but two of the assembled cars, mini-vans and SUVs are occupied by adults, many of us are cuddling up with our smartphones or staring through the windshield at the…