Our son’s junior year soccer season finished up last week on a crisp autumn day in New Hampshire, a first round playoff game which ended in a penalty kick shoot out, sadly, a loss. There is a special breed of parent out there raising goalkeepers both in and beyond the net. Watching our boy, now almost 17, whose confidence and poise has grown to match the pink goalie kit he had to have in the seventh grade, is akin to wondering where this young man came from.

While most soccer players, coaches, fans hate when a game comes down to sudden death (or golden goal as it’s called now) followed by penalty kick shoot outs, it’s as if our boy was born for them. A performer from his earliest years, he used to dive for balls he had no chance in hell to save– but he looked good in the pursuit. He would also dive for balls he could easily have just scooped up in his hands minus the dramatic dive. Other parents would give me a knowing wink or glance over and say something like, “Oh that boy of yours,” and I would shake my head, holding a smile on the inside.

His dad was a goalkeeper in college prior to the spinal cord injury sustained while snowmobiling on an icy night. From the very earliest ages our son identified as a goalkeeper. At first, we wondered if he was avoiding the field because he didn’t want to run. But now, he is as fit as a collegiate athlete, hiking, biking, running, lifting weights, and all, seemingly, with a larger plan in place, even if I’m often on the sidelines still to understand.

Coming off a broken collar bone last season sustained in summer soccer and then re-injured diving for a frisbee in PE meant he only was able to play in one game as a sophomore. As a freshmen, there was a veteran goalkeeper who played over him unless there were way ahead and coach wanted to get him some playing time. So that this year when he took the field, more beast than boy having grown inches taller and pounds heavier with muscle, I found myself amazed at the human we observed from the sideline. He had no fear. His communication skills with his defense might have equated to a soldier at war. His on the field friendship with his centerback, a young man who takes “protect one’s keeper” to an honorably brave and courageous level, has been exciting to watch develop.

But gone are the days when I could snatch his little hand in a parking lot to keep him safe or buckle him into the 5 point harness where he inevitably fell asleep or coach his little rec team where I was, undeniably, the tallest human at practice. At this last game on the last Tuesday in October, with the bright fall sunshine listing to the west, he was unrecognizable to me as a mom. Each member of the opposing team approached the penalty kick line and there was our son, making eye contact, using his body to intimidate, chatting with the referees as if he had all the time in the world. He was in their heads. He put himself there. On purpose. Where does that come from? Who taught him that? Where did that nerve come from to use his body so fearlessly?

The number of times I had to look away, walk away, check my phone, wonder out loud not for the last time, “Where does he come from?” He fully commits to the ball every single time, and that is probably what makes him so strong in the net. And I’m equally grateful to this sport for the fall distraction as we approach ski racing season. He loves soccer enough to keep playing, although it isn’t lost on me one bit that we only get one more season with our boy in the net. Unless he changes his mind and decides to play soccer at some level in his post graduate life, wherever that might lead.

There comes a time in parenting when we have to let them take the risks– they are indeed calculated. We often don’t even realize when it’s happening, until there it is that moment when you recognize they are more grown than little– they need you more or less- just differently. And they will make mistakes, but he is driving a car and punting a ball full field and the days of me being able to wrestle him on the couch have been over for years. He woke up this morning at 2 to hike the Franconia Ridge with friends to catch the sunrise. The best I could do was to make sure they had breakfast sandwiches, water, warm layers and headlamps. And then I let him go.