My love for soccer started with flowers. At five years old, I wandered around the painted edges of the soccer field picking daisies. When the ball came to me, I booted it out and watched it go. At that time my interest was picking flowers, but in seventh grade, I actually began to play the game. Although flower picking brought me to soccer, I began to love the game because of the competitiveness and sportsmanship.
My junior year on the varsity team was when my love for soccer hit me the most. I didn't get as much playing time as I would have liked, but I still cheered my teammates on. When I finally got playing time, I stepped on the field and everything disappeared except the ball and the goal. I played my best on the field and scored the most goals of any “benchwarmer.” Being a “benchwarmer” wasn’t the role I wanted and that couldn’t change if I didn’t improve my skills. When I went in the game I wanted it to be my time to shine.
During the summer of my senior year, I worked out for countless hours trying to improve in hopes of earning more playing time. I built up my endurance and my skill. The week before soccer tryouts, I spent my hard-earned money to participate in a soccer camp with the varsity soccer coaches. I hoped this camp would help me prepare for the upcoming week. Running around the soccer field with the ball took my mind off the thought that I was a “benchwarmer.” When I couldn’t get a move down straight, I’d practice it. Practice didn’t make me perfect, but it made me a better player. I felt ready.
Thursday, August 28th, the day that changed my life, was a day I will never forget. At the end of practice, my coach called me over. I was shaking. I was petrified. That was when my coach said, “You don’t meet the skill requirements to be on the varsity soccer team.” I broke out in tears, and she proceeded to say, “You can practice and keep score with us, but you won’t be playing.” I felt like a complete failure, not only in soccer, but in life itself.
Still, I wasn’t ready to give up on everything I worked hard for. On my walk home, several questions ran through my mind. Why did get I cut? Could I have done something better? I worked so hard that summer, and I felt like it was for nothing. When I got to my house, I wiped my tears away and knew I had to pretend I was okay. Once my mom saw me, she knew something was wrong. A tear rolled down both of my cheeks, and I muttered, “I got cut from…the soccer team.” She said, “You’re kidding me, right? You worked so hard for this, and if she can’t see that, then that’s her problem. You played varsity last year, and you showed everyone what you are capable of.”
I spent many nights crying and thinking I was a failure. I never realized that one conversation could impact my life this much. Every day I thought of my friends practicing when I couldn’t. I replayed the conversation with the coach in my mind and began to realize that my mom was right. I couldn’t allow one person to affect my life. I had to face the facts; I couldn’t be on the soccer team, but that didn’t mean I couldn’t do anything else. I joined other activities that I grew to love. I got an internship at the local radio station, Thunder 102, and joined the school play. At last, I realized that I may fail sometimes, but that doesn’t mean I am a failure.
