There is nothing like being under the stadium lights, hearing your name called out over the speaker, screaming with your friends in celebration, and spitting on the 20-yard line, or so I thought.

If there is one thing to know about my family it's that we're a soccer family. Everyone in town knows that my dad is THE guy to have train your kid if you want them to be a stellar goalkeeper. Thus, growing up I was constantly followed by the question "Do you play soccer because your dad did?" I never thought much of this because I knew that I played soccer for much more than to simply please my dad. I didn't really care that I was running after this ball that carried such high standards for me and my abilities. And, I was never forced into anything by my parents, the only rule was that if I started something, I had to finish it, no matter how much I thought I hated it. Middle school track serves as a prime example of this family rule. Nonetheless, I played soccer for reasons of my own. I played soccer for the smell of the grass fields on a dewy October morning in Central Kansas. I played soccer for the feeling of satisfaction that comes from an aggressive tackle or from hitting an upper ninety shot that no keeper could have ever saved. I played soccer for the fun that came from every aspect of the ball that rolled between each player on the field, a bond that you can't find anywhere else.

Now in complete and utter honesty, playing soccer wasn't always a happy thing for me either. I've played the sport pretty much my whole life. From the moment I was a small child, it was something that I enjoyed. I enjoyed going to practices twice a week and spending time with my public school friends. I enjoyed playing the Hotshots every weekend and beating them because there is nothing better than a good rivalry (even though this wasn't much of a rivalry). I even enjoyed the pool party where I jumped into the hotel pool and split my chin open and watched my sister run off while I sank to the bottom of the pool, chin skin dangling and all. For most of my life, soccer was a happy thing for me. There was no place I would have rather been than on a soccer field with some of my most favorite people. My teammates have been my best friends for as long as I can remember. We all go way back. As a shy private school kid having this family on the soccer field meant that when I switched from private to public school I had a place to fit in. And this would be the same place that I stayed until a few weeks before high school graduation. High school brings me to the relationship switch between me and soccer. For the past three years, I had watched my sister play varsity soccer for our high school and excel. So, I kind of had a bar to meet when I entered the program as a freshman my sister's senior year. When I failed to meet the bar, I stood behind the bench at the first game of my high school career when my sister pulled me aside and reassured me that my time would come.

I spent the next four years waiting for my time to come. By the start of Sophomore season, my life had changed drastically. At this point, I was not only living under the shadow of my dad and sister, but I was now also dating a varsity starter on the boys' team, so the pressure to be good by association was on. Sophomore year came and went and I was still waiting for my time to come. The thing to know about my years as an underclassman on the team is that I could never do anything that was pleasing. I spent the first two years being verbally berated for my subpar skills and lack of ability in such a way that even my teammates noticed. So when it came time for next year, I planned on quitting. This was the first time in my life that I hated playing soccer. I hated touching the ball because it reminded me of when I loved playing. But for some reason, I thought that maybe things would be different, so each year I made the decision and I continued playing. Which brings me all the way to senior year. At this point, I too was a varsity starter, but by now it wasn't about my title. It wasn't about anything other than being the support act in the success of the stars of the team. It wasn't fun anymore. I hated playing and by the end of the season, I hated playing so much that I would snap at my teammates and at my coaches. The little girl who loved to play the game so much had gotten lost and I struggled to find her. Maybe if my love for the sport had not been singlehandedly ruined by a coach, I would be getting ready to play at a collegiate level next year, as I had always dreamed of. But instead, I am just so thankful that I never have to suit up to play high school soccer ever again. I will never leave the stadium to cry alone in my car and wonder why I just wasn't good enough. But I will miss, I do miss, the moments that made me fall in love with the game.

So, here's to soccer.

To some of the best moments of my life.

May I never forget the time I spent dancing in my copas.