If I had to choose the worst year of my whole life, the same year pops into my head each time: seventh grade. I feel like this goes for a lot of people. It’s not as cool as sixth grade, when you meet a bunch of new friends from different schools who are now your classmates. It’s not as fun as eighth grade, when you rule the school for the last time before senior year. Seventh grade is the year of braces, awkward relationships, and when your body is somewhere between the “still a child” phase and the “SURPRISE! YOU’RE A TEENAGER!” phase.

In the midst of my seventh-grade misery, my mother made me play basketball for my school’s team. Listen, I played basketball all through elementary school. By the time fifth grade came and the season was over, I was burnt out--too many practices, running drills, and early mornings. So when my mother basically told me, “You’re joining the basketball team!” the summer after sixth grade, I was furious. Not only was I out of shape in general, but the thought of going to basketball practices every afternoon during the months of August, September, and October did not appeal to me at all.

(You're welcome for that picture, by the way.)

But regardless, on the first day of tryouts, I was dropped off at my middle school, muttering to my mother something about ruining my summer.

Tryouts were fine. I made the team. Everyone made the team.

Actually, I made the B-team. Myself, who played basketball for at least five years before this, and the girl who talked to unicorns during our water breaks, and some girls who had never picked up a basketball before, we all made the B-team.

Of course, I wasn’t upset about being on the B-team at the time, and certainly not now. There were many, many talented, athletic girls who also tried out. Playing for the B-team taught me some important life lessons, as well.

First off, I learned the concept of “patience.” If this B-team was going to go anywhere, the majority of the members needed to learn basketball. Patience is all you have when you’re trying to teach someone how to pass a basketball or make a layup. And of course, there was the time when a fellow B-team member asked me, “Where’s the free throw line?” Thank goodness for those long afternoon practices. My B-team somehow learned how to play basketball. We won some games; we lost some games. It was fine.

Second, I learned that it’s okay to not be the best. There’s a conversation starter I read once that poses the question, “Would you rather be the worst player on the winning team or the best player on the losing team?” Like I said before, I was surrounded by a lot of girls who excelled in basketball. Maybe it was my lack of motivation or a little bit of intimidation, but I was not that great at basketball compared to the A-team. That being said, I was a starter at every single one of the B-team games. I usually scored multiple times at each game. I learned the plays (yes my B-team had actual plays). I did everything I could to be the best player on the B-team.

So, thank you, Mom. I knew you thought I was going to roast you in this article. But, thank you for shaping me into the person who I am today. Thank you for pushing me out of my comfort zone and showing up to all of my games that year, even though I sported some pretty odd basketball shoes with little orange peace signs on them. Thank you for supporting me through the ups and downs of seventh grade and beyond. I am so, so grateful.