A Father's Lesson

It’s the last play before practice is over. My body aches after yet another day of three sessions, 2 hours each in the blistering August heat. I long for a hot shower, a good meal and a long sleep. Kristine plays me the ball. My legs feel like led, as I fight them to move. But, as I take my first touch to goal, my body goes numb and nothing seems to matter anymore besides putting the ball in the back of the net, and calling it a night. As I approach Kristine, I can see the intensity in her face. I throw my shoulders left and follow my scurrying feet right, with the ball at my laces. I fly past her and square up to take a shot. I lock eyes with the goal keeper, for I know she does not have a shot at saving this. I pull back my right leg, and get ready to rip a shot. The next thing I know, everything goes black and my right ankle is attacked by shooting pains. A mixture of tears and sweat cause my eyes to burn. I hear my teammates’ cleats rustle in the grass as they circle around me. I cannot help but scream and squirm in pain and disbelief.

After a few minutes, Diana, our athletic trainer, finally calms me down a little and convinces me to try and get up. As I rise from the turf, I cannot put any pressure on my right ankle without being in excruciating pain. As I hop off of the field, my coach says “Don’t worry kiddo, you’re tough, I am sure you will be good to go by the MAAC Championships.” That shoots straight through my gut like a bullet. The championships were in exactly one week, and the pain in my ankle certainly does not indicate to me that I will be at all ready to play in that game. My team has been working hard all season for this. We have gone through so much, and overcome so much just to make it to this point. My team has fallen victim to injury all season. In fact, we have been short in numbers all week at practice. With me in good health, we are just eleven players strong to play in the big game next week. Eleven players are just enough players to play in a soccer game. That means no subs in an extremely competitive and physically draining game.

Ever since I stepped foot on Marist College campus, my teammates have been my best friends, and my family. We work together, live together, hurt together and succeed together. The thought of letting them down creates a pit feeling sitting in my abdomen. How could I do that to them?

Diana has made it very clear to me that if I ever wish to run the same again, she strongly suggests that I stay off of my ankle for a solid six weeks. That is five weeks too long for me. I contemplate my options; I can either sit out and watch my team suffer the consequences, or I can play, and potentially screw up my ankle for the rest of my life. This is a tough choice. It is at times like these where I find myself searching my brain for the same answer...

It is finally 8th period. School is almost out. I watch the second hand on the clock tick around sixty more times before it finally turns 2:06pm. The bell rings, and I gather my things. I am in slow motion as the rest of the students in my American History class race out the door. As I finally make my way out to the hallway, I cannot help but be irritated by obnoxious Clarke High School teenagers eager to get out. I push my way through the roaring football players and sassy cheerleaders. I finally make it to my locker. As I battle with my locker combination, my sister taps me on the shoulder. I turn around, but she doesn’t say anything. She just gives me a “hurry the heck up” look and turns away. I finally get my lock open, pack up my things and close the door. My sister and I walk side by side all the way out to the parking lot, without saying a single word at all.

We finally get home. The first thing I see when I walk in the door is the same thing I have seen for the past month. My mother is sitting at the kitchen table with her eyes glued to the television screen. Sometimes, I sit down beside her and allow myself to get captivated in the same trance; however, I am just not up for that today. I kiss her hello and head upstairs to my bedroom. Once I get there, I change into my favorite, oversized sweat pants and jump into bed. I turn on the television, hoping something will be on to take my mind off of the haunting thoughts I am having. I settle with a comical episode of “Friends.” All I can do now is wait.

I have a giant knot in my stomach that tightens with every day that passes. My biggest curiosity is why he went. It even angers me. Does he not realize that the injury to his shoulder just days before was fate working at its best? It is just impossible for me to understand how he could do this to our family. Does he not realize what he is putting us through? If something were to happen to him, my family would be in complete shambles. And what about me? What would I do without him? For as long as I can remember he has been my mentor and my best friend. He does everything for me and with me. How could he do this to me?

One day, after weeks of waiting, he finally comes home. I am so happy that he is home, but somehow, the anger in me does not subside. He isn’t the same man as he was before he left. He looks different. He is as pale as clay, with raccoon like circles around his eyes. He takes very long showers multiple times a day, but the smell of death continues to spew out of his pours. He doesn’t really talk to me. In fact, he doesn’t really talk to anyone. He just sits and gazes into space for hours on end. I cannot deny that I am living with a man who has certainly seen more than anyone should ever see in their entire life. But, I cannot help but still be angry at him. Why did he have to go? When he left, he was full of life and full of fun. Since he has returned he has been nothing but full of sorrow and silence. Why did he do this to himself? Why did he do this to us? Why did he do this to me?

For many passing days, the silence does not subside, but neither does my anger. But then, one day, my father says something to me that shoots through my gut like a bullet, and throws my anger directly out the window.

He is sitting at the kitchen table, starring out the window. I am making a sandwich. I ask him if he wants one, but he doesn’t respond. I didn’t think much of it. Before I have the chance to take a bite of my turkey and Swiss, my apatite is spoiled:

“Those men buried under the rubble were my brothers”

I stare at him in silence.

“Firefighters share brotherhood. We are a unit. Whether you know a guy or not, if he is a firefighter, he is a brother” my dad says.

I have no idea what to do or what to say. Without even thinking, I drop my sandwich and latch on to my father as hard as I can. I find myself repeatedly telling him how much I love him. I feel my body tingle and my eyes water. I cannot let go. There is no more exchange in conversation, until my mother walks into the kitchen. She sees us embracing, and asks what’s wrong. My father and I do not say anything. I just unlatch myself and walk out of the room.

The day that we have been working so hard for is finally here. It is November 11th. As I limp from my dorm room to the Athletic Center, I pass the stadium where the MAAC Championship game will be played in just a few hours. I am numb to emotion. I arrive to the training room an hour before my team is scheduled to warm up. I soak my ankle in the warm whirlpool, do some rehab exercises, and have Diana tape it. After that process is over, Diana looks at me and shakes her head. I know what she is thinking. She thinks that I am crazy for playing in this game. My ankle is the color of an eggplant, and swollen like a balloon. I know what I have to do.

I make my way to the locker room to get ready with my teammates. I can hear the music pumping by the time I get half way down the hallway. As I get closer, my ankle seems to be throbbing in unison with the beat. I try to ignore it. Once I get inside, I put on all my gear and start to focus on the game. Nothing seems to matter anymore.

We finally make our way out to the field and start warming up. My first touch on the ball is painful. In fact, the entire warm-up is painful, but I don’t let that phase me. I just keep going until the warm up is finally over.

As we finish our warm up and get into our huddle, we all link arms. Our captains and coaches say a few inspiring things, but I am completely sidetracked by the intense pain I am feeling in my ankle. After the coaches are done speaking, they walk away, and our huddle gets tighter.

The game begins. As I take my first touch on the ball, once again, my weak ankle twists and the pain brings my knees. I spend approximately 20 seconds on the ground, feeling sorry for myself. I contemplate staying down, and allowing the trainers to carry me off the field where I can sit out for the rest of the game. But that idea is quickly removed from my brain as I watch an opposing player dribble down the opposite side of the field. I get up. Throughout the rest of the game, I favor my ankle a little bit; however, I get through it.

The game is over. We did not win. We all walk slowly back into the locker room. Once we get there, we come together in a team huddle. “We did the best we could, we rose to the challenge, and we did it together. You can’t win them all” our captain Keri says.

After I change out of my uniform, and take off my gear, I hobble out of the locker room. Despite Keri’s words, I am overwhelmed with the disappointment of the loss. My head is down for most of the walk. Once I turn the corner to head over to where the stands are, I lift my head and look for my father. Once I find him, without any hesitation, I latch on to him and start to cry. (I don’t know what it is about my dad, but when I am upset about something, as soon as I see him, the tears start to fall.) He holds my head on his chest for a few minutes before he whispers in my ear “How’s the ankle kid?” I just shake my head back and forth and continue to cry. “I am so proud of you Kate” he says. The tears subside a little after he says that, and I give him a little smile.

The crowd starts to clear. My dad and I walked out of the stadium side by side. We decided to grab some dinner and hang out for a while.