Personal Narrative: My First Soccer Team

In a flash, the referee blows his whistle, and the game is over. Legs striding, I chase after the ball, stealing it from the other team. Amidst the excitement, I lose track of time, and minutes go by in seconds. I started playing soccer when I was 7 years old. For as long as I can remember I have loved to play soccer. When I play soccer I forget about all my worries. Since then I have played for many different recreational teams for Verdigris and Catoosa. I have also played for a competitive soccer team for West Side Alliance. Today, I play for Verdigris High School soccer. I have played for their junior varsity team for two years as the captain and the junior varsity player of the year. I have also played for the varsity team.

It was my third time trying out for middle school soccer. I felt strong, fit and ready

I used to believe that soccer was, well, just soccer. I'd play for my rec team, in which would consist of one practice and one game a week. Nothing special, and not too stressful. After I got tired of rec soccer, I joined a travel team. To be specific it was the Mahwah Raiders. It was a step up from rec, I now had two practices and one game a week. This wasn't too crazy for me- I was fine with the timing and schedule of everything.

In July 2013, my grandma asked me did I want to play another football season. I replied, yes, so she signed me up to play football for the Carson Colts. I was on the Carson Colts, a Junior Peewee division team. It was a challenge. I wanted to stay with my teammates, but that meant losing 30 pounds.

The 1st half of our game against Eagan didn't go so well, we were down 13-0 heading into the locker room at halftime. Losing the game was on everyone's mind considering we were on a 2 game losing streak, but I wasn't going to let that happen. I did my best to inspire my teammates and spark some energy for the 2nd half. I walked into the locker room and started physically lifting teammates heads up. During this time I was giving different thoughts of encouragement to different teammates, I could tell our starting quarterback was pretty upset after throwing a few interceptions and being scoreless up to this point. He was a sophomore, so knowing that I told him that there was no pressure on him, and that no matter how he played our team, the

7:00pm could not come fast enough. I was waiting anxiously in my seat for my first opportunity to start as a varsity player. I saw the ball soar through the air as my stomach churned, what I did not know was that we would lose that game twenty three to seven. We had not lost to that team in thirty nine years, and I wanted it to be forty. Preparation was our downfall, and all we could do was move on and get ready for the next game.

In the spring of 2016, I began to think about my senior project while I was preparing for my own spring soccer season to start. My friend, Atya Van Ness, reached out to me about an opportunity of coaching a U6 team that same season. I enjoyed the idea of coaching the next generation of soccer players and building their skills and passion for the sport the same way I did almost 10 years ago. I immediately told her I was interested and began the process of searching for a mentor.

I have played soccer since Preschool, and while I don’t receive any MVP trophies, I can play fairly well. Soccer is who I am. Correction: soccer is who I was. Going into my junior year, I thought I would continue to play for my high school as I had my sophomore year. But , they said “they couldn’t find a spot for me on varsity.” My friends and family expected me to feel shattered, but I didn’t, not yet at least. I felt numb, not fully realizing what this meant. Not realizing that I wouldn’t spend the fall with the friends I trained all summer with, not realizing that I wouldn’t feel the pride for the great Oak Hills High everytime I put on my jersey, not realizing the embarrassment I would feel when people questioned why my name was absent from the roster. Putting on a brave front, even for myself, I told everyone I didn’t care; however, a few days later I realized all the cherished experiences I would miss and I sobbed. It’s challenging to hear that all of your hopes, dreams, and aspirations of the past twelve years, which at sixteen made up

“Yeah, my team’s going to regionals now!” said my older cousin, Noor. He’d been playing soccer since he was about 8 years old, and had recently turned 16.

One of the happiest three months of my life was when our soccer team went on defeated. I learned that you can’t win all by yourself. Our coach was the main motivation behind our success.

A soccer ball, around the ball that shape never changes. The ball that made history. This

A blaring whistle came from Coach Holstein, the only gym coach at Norbury high, signifying that class had started. No one ever took him seriously with his short shorts and sweatband that held back his long flow, but he sure was loud. “Listen up boys”, Coach shouted and it echoed throughout the gymnasium. “We are going to have a good ole match of dodgeball today”. This received groans from almost the entire class, except the three football players in the back. No wonder, they just use this as an excuse to pelt the scrawny kids like me. “Quit your whining and act like real men. Let’s go your wasting time.” Coach yelled.

A few moments later the doctor came in, making our worst fears a reality. According to the tests they ran she had leukemia, to say we were shocked is an understatement. For months on end everyone was convinced that it was just the flu, she went to appointment after appointment, every doctor said the same thing, “It’s just the common flu”. “How can something that seemed so small and mundane end up being a life altering disease?” that was all I repeated in my head while I sat in the waiting room. I never thought that the person I had been through

I woke, aching all over and hearing various beeps and buzzes, only to see that I was surrounded by monitors. Doctors and nurses came rushing in and shouting “She’s awake”. However, everyone was crying, and it was hard to determine if they were tears of joy or sorrow. I tried to sit up, but fell right back down to the creaky hospital bed. “Just relax,” they said. That was when I fell right back into a deep coma.

The harsh, bright lights of my bathroom burned my retinas and a man I didn’t recognize came into focus. He looked like the perfect beach: hair the color of sand and eyes the color of seawater. At first, I thought he was an angel coming to save me. In a way, I guess he was. His navy blue shirt had a crest and the letters E-M-T embroidered on the pocket. The tile was as cold as ice. Although it was my bathroom that I had been in a million times, everything felt foreign. I must have zoned out, I thought. “Yeah, I can hear you,” I whispered. I didn’t even want to look him in the eyes. My right forearm, leg, and fingers were crusted with dark crimson blood. What happened? The flash of a fresh razor blade suddenly sliced through my fuzzy and confused thoughts. Oh. The man quietly wrapped my arm in gauze. I could hear another man talking to my mom just beyond the bathroom door. “She definitely knows how to take care of things like this. She’s managed to stop the bleeding for now, but it may need stitches.” There I sat, curled up in a ball of protection, shame, and fear while they discussed what to do with me. A