My most treasured possession is stored in a box at my house – my first soccer ball. After three years, I was pleasantly surprised to be unexpectedly reunited with it when I returned to California last year. When I was 7 years old and living in Ojai, California, my father and I made the decision to join the local AYSO league. AYSO, for those who are unfamiliar, is a community-based league that attracts children with various aspirations – from those who simply seek enjoyment to those who dream of playing at renowned stadiums like Old Trafford.
Although lacking soccer equipment and knowledge about the sport, I excitedly signed up for the spring season. My only understanding was that playing soccer involved kicking the ball into the goal, a game my Dad used to partake in. The logistics of acquiring the necessary equipment didn’t concern me much as a 7-year-old with different priorities. Fortunately, there was still one unopened gift from my Aunt Amanda that had arrived shortly after my birthday.
Even though I was initially hesitant and would have rather played with my other presents, my mom persuaded me that it would be worth the small amount of effort. Therefore, I reluctantly opened the gift, removing two layers of wrapping paper. Instantly, a smile formed on my face. Looking back at that moment now, I can’t help but feel silly for becoming so thrilled about a soccer ball worth just $5, which can easily be found in any sports store.
With only 10 minutes before registration at Montessori Elementary School, my family and I began the AYSO season. While seeing familiar faces from school, I chatted with them to distract myself from the nervousness in my stomach. It was natural to feel anxious, especially when your dad is not just your coach but has also achieved remarkable success in his career.
Despite not being able to recall my team’s name, the memory of our purple T-shirts still remains vivid in my mind. Wearing it filled me with immense pride. I retrieved my ball from my bag and attempted to imitate the skills exhibited by professional players on TV. Regrettably, my endeavors in dribbling, juggling, and shooting turned out to be disappointingly subpar and had a detrimental impact on my self-assurance.
Despite lacking the luxury of self-pity, I had to swiftly shake off my emotions as the referee initiated the game. While I cannot recall every precise moment from the match, what has stayed with me are the instances of shouting, tears, kicking, and team unity. Astonishingly, I became fully engrossed in the experience and even today, I am grateful for my Dad’s support of soccer and particularly my Aunt Amanda’s present of my inaugural soccer ball.
