I would like to thank my 10 and 11-year-old self for bringing me some of the best memories of my life. Memories I have cherished and held dear to my heart. There are several stories I could tell to describe why I look so fondly upon my fifth and sixth grade years, but there is one series in particular that brings me significant joy and laughter, and it never grows old no matter how many times I tell it.

Allow yourself to be transported back in time to your pre-pubescent days. You may cringe at the thought. I, for one, was a puny, freckled girl with bony knees and a gap between my two front teeth that only braces could fix. Despite my meager appearance, I excelled in soccer. At the time, my family and I lived in Landstuhl, Germany. I had played for the base team, but my parents thought it the perfect opportunity to integrate into the culture by having me play for an all-boys German soccer team. It is important to note, however, there was another American girl on the team, Addison. We were, as you could imagine, attached at the hip, partners in crime, each other’s side-kicks. The titles are endless, but our bond was strong. Standing in line for drills on the dirt field, we would go to the back because we had no clue what the German instructions were, so we would wait to watch the others go. Standing in the front of the line also made you the victim of hair pulls, booty slaps and laughter. We held our own though and eventually could dish it back just as much as they would give it. Gaining respect on the team took time, but what we differed from as being girls we made up with in extra-aggression on the field.

On game days, Addison and I would change in the girl’s locker room and come in when they were done changing to not understand the strategy for the game. However, many away games lacked a designated girl’s changing room and we would find ourselves changing in janitor closets, the shower section of the locker room, outside, really anywhere hidden from our fellow German teammates. Our most infamous changing spectacular was when our team was selected to walk out at the beginning of the game with the professional city team, FCK1 Kaiserslautern. I don’t know if the staff just couldn’t understand us or were simply unwilling to accommodate our wishes, but there was no where for us to change. So our coaches opened the door all the way and stood guard in front of the tiny crack between the wall and the door. Addison and I crammed ourselves in and sheepishly stripped down and changed with our fellow teammates giggling at our dilemma. After all, what is more horrify to an 11-year-old girl than to change in front of a group of boys? Literally nothing.

It took a while to get any real game time, but I remember not holding anything back, desperate to prove myself to my teammates and our opposition. I slowly played more and more. The first time my small, boyish body scored was pivotal. In my world, scoring on that team felt like scoring in the World Cup. My coaches were cheering, I saw my dad jump about 10 feet in the air and best of all, high-fives from every boy. I felt like I had finally made it. I had transformed from an awkward scrawny foreigner to a respected, awkward scrawny foreigner.

Immersion into the team was at full capacity and we were not left out on any team culture or tradition. The team would take turns taking all the uniforms home to wash and we were not excluded. At the end of the games, we would either awkwardly give our sweaty uniforms to one of our teammates or with reluctant smiles, accept theirs. Laundry responsibilities were not the only thing that rotated. Game captains were also a role to be shared, and with that the duty of the pre-game chant. This, for me, was absolutely dreaded. We would all put our hands in and in my best German accent I would shout “alle für einen!!!” or “all for one!!!” And then laugh to let the others know, yes, please laugh also and release me from this awkward prison. This series of awkwardness would not be complete, nor would any 11-year-old story without a love interest.

I had the biggest crush one of the boys, like full on blush, avoid at all cost, afraid to say his name kind of crush. His hair was like Justin Bieber’s back in the good ole’ days and he was our star forward. Looking back now at my time on that team, this is the funniest memory. We were scrimmaging and he, who shall not be named, was on the opposing team. And, unfortunately for me, he was my responsibility to defend. This would mean I would have to touch him. This would mean I could not avoid him. So, I had decided, that in order to prevent anyone, especially him, from finding out about my crush I would be extra aggressive. Long story short, as soon as he got the ball I body checked him so hard he fell face-first into a giant mud puddle. This resulted in the removal of his shirt and my face turning the lovely shade of rose red, so essentially my plan was foiled. However, a great bonding moment for me and the other boys who thought it was the funniest thing they had ever seen.

So cheers to you 10 and 11-year-old Maddie. You have given me countless memories, stories and life lessons. In an awkward time of life and in the most awkward situations you learned to both stand up for yourself and laugh at yourself. I’m excited to share our stories.