To The Sport That Raised Me

I was raised on a sport. From ages ten to fifteen, when the fall or spring rolled around, almost every single one of my Saturday's and Sunday's was dedicated to the sport I loved and still love. Saturday morning, 6 o'clock; dad would wake me up and I would get ready and throw on my uniform. Mom would make me breakfast and dad would pack a cooler filled with water bottles, lunch, snacks, ice packs, wash cloths, and everything in between. I would check my bag to make sure I had everything; bat, fielding glove, sunglasses, mouth guard, batting gloves, catching gear, catchers glove. I'd put on my slides, but take my cleats to the front seat with me for when we got there. Seven thirty, off we go... games start at nine but we have to be there at eight to practice for an hour. On Saturday we would play three or four games, and at least one or two on Sunday.

I played tee ball when I was five. My team and I called ourselves the Chili Peppers. We had green uniforms with red lettering on them and little black cleats. After that I tried a few other sports; cheerleading and soccer, but I definitely did not like them as much. When I was eight, I started recreational softball, and I fell in love with it. But it wasn't just the sport itself that I fell in love with. I loved the friends that I made, and learning something new every practice. I loved winning games, and cheering on my teammates. I loved learning how to slide and how to bunt. I loved coming home with dirt all over me, and I loved putting on that uniform every weekend. I loved practicing with my dad (who was usually the assistant coach) in the front yard and hearing my mom yelling from the bleachers every game.

I started playing travel ball when I was ten, and with that came tournaments. We had practice two or three times during the week, and then Saturday and Sunday we played our hearts out. Forget about sleepovers and hanging out with friends. It seemed like I was always saying, "Sorry, I can't hangout. I have softball this weekend." But I didn't mind it one bit. I was doing something I loved, something I got a rush from almost every weekend, and I wouldn't have had it any other way.

I stopped playing when I was fifteen. School was getting more rigorous, and I started working. I have not played an actual game in three years, but I can tell you that I have missed it every day for those past three years. And now, it's baseball season yet again, and around baseball season, I miss it even more. I am proud to say I was raised on a sport! (Thanks to dad)