End of Year Reflections

 I decided to take a temporary pause from my life's story (sorry about the longer cliff hanger) to reflect upon the year known as 2022. This one is going to be a bit different from past years because I'm going to spitball it and not really have a straight flow. Basically a mind dump. Let's see where this goes.

After one of the worst Decembers of my life (2021) January 2022 didn't show much promise. I won't go into much detail about that December, but in short within the span of one week, my immediate family had a bout with Covid that had me on pins and needles, three of my close co-workers were laid off, and I lost a friend at the age of 24 to Covid. 

When January appeared, Covid restrictions were heavy again due to the rage of the omnicron variant. I really could not take another year of this mess. With my spirits crushed, there came forth things to lift them. The first was the return of the winter olympics. If you've known me for a bit, you know I love the olympics. For those two weeks, watching great feats of athleticism, thrilling moments, glorious victories, and cheering on Team USA, my state of being rose.

The auto show came back to the IX center and I attended for my first time since moving to Cleveland. March gave us a couple of warm days and I took my electric skateboard for a ride. That feeling of speed and freedom was a much welcomed rush. It was these little things that made the outlook seem brighter.

April. It was the turning point. I was getting on a plane for the first time in 2.5 years and I was headed to North Carolina to visit my sister. I spent 4 days there enjoying the warm weather, the parks, the ice cream, and the people. It was a much needed trip. The ultimate kicker was a little after 9PM, I was sitting on my connecting flight from Washington D.C. to Cleveland. Right before the plane took off, the pilot announced that masks were no longer required as the restriction had been lifted nation wide mere hours before. My hope surged as that was the last major obstacle of things headed in the right direction.

As the weather continued to warm, May opened the door to begin outdoor projects on my house. I began replacing sunken concrete, trimmed trees and installed string lights on my garage awning. Then memorial day weekend came. I was a buzz because for the first time in my life, I was going to Las Vegas. It wasn't just any trip either. We were celebrating a friend who was about to tie the knot. A group of 12 bros in total. It was a blast at an incredibly fancy airbnb 10 min from the strip, touring the strip, seeing the Vegas lights at night, and even a bonus trip to Red Rocks National Park. It was the most expensive trip I've taken since Australia, but the experience was well worth it.

In June I jumped on my third plane of the year to visit my brother and sister-in-law in Maryland. We took a day trip to D.C. and I finally got to explore our nation's capital. The Washington Monument, the Lincoln Memorial, the Smithsonian, etc. We also saw a ball game at National Park making that ballpark #10 on my MLB tour. We explored a bit more of Baltimore too and I met a bunch of cool people they know.

July put a pause on the travel because I had a number of local church events I was attending plus two of my good friends were saying "I do." Unfortunately they both scheduled their weddings on the same day so while I wanted so badly to be at both, I chose the one in Cleveland because I committed to it first. One thing I really love about weddings is reconnecting with people I haven't seen in forever. Being able to hang out on a rooftop in downtown Cleveland catching up and chatting the night away are moments I live for. The weather was perfect and the wedding was a blast. Thankfully my other friend had a reception/celebration at the end of the month that I was able to attend to celebrate with them there.

August brought back the travel bug as my family headed back to my hometown in Pennsylvania. Not only did we visit family and friends, but we went to Hershey Park, explored a bit of Philadelphia, and saw a Phillies game at Citizen's Bank Park for stadium #11. I also had a blast at an impromptu painting class from a dear childhood friend who is an artist by trade. My little work of art from that time now hangs in bathroom to brighten the atmosphere. 

I did host BBQs at my house all summer and September provided the last two. The weather was great, the food was delicious, and those who came ended up chatting until the sun went down. This month was also mostly a baseball watch as the Guardians were making a strong push into the playoffs.

October marked 1 year of being a homeowner and signaled just how quickly a year can fly. I ended up attending not one, but two post-season baseball games which was a career record for me. Although the Guardians didn't make it out of the second round, it was still a wild ride.

November was socialize month as I spent the majority of the month attending events with friends. That included two Friendsgiving dinners before our family Thanksgiving dinner. Thanksgiving this year was a bit more sentimental than normal because there won't be another one like this one. I'll explain more on that down in a future post. 

And here we have arrived in December. A very chill month (literally) for me as we close out 2022. I can't forget to mention all the different adventures and events I participated in with this geocaching hobby I've been doing for 7 (now almost 8) years. It's a staple in my life that not only put my on new adventures, but allowed me to meet a bunch of fantastic people. And finally, a ten year project will come to completion as January appears. I wrote two letters to myself in January of 2013 and sealed them in an envelope to be unsealed and read January of 2023. Stay tuned.

On that note, I bid 2022 adieu and look forward to a fresh and new year. I wish you all well and here's hoping a best foot forward into 2023.

The Story Of My Life: 2003: The Backswing of the Wrecking Ball Part 1

There are years one anticipates. Years that are supposed to hold something special. Something planned or the hope of something magical. For me, 2003 was supposed to be one of those years. I would be turning 13 and I couldn't be more excited to be a teenager. My life was also looking up post 9/11. Soccer was doing wonders for my life, my friend group was expanding, NASCAR was taking over my world, and little by little I was beginning to find out who I was. 

Speaking of NASCAR, my love for the sport played a role in an amazing surprise. Everyone in our town received this free newspaper called the Merchandiser. It wasn't actually a newspaper, but a newspaper-like item loaded with nothing but ads, hence the name. Every year the Merchandiser held a contest to pick the winner of NASCAR's biggest race, the Daytona 500. There were only 43 drivers that qualified for this race so you had a 1-43 shot. But, since it was a contest, many people entered and picked similar drivers. To determine the tie-breaker, you had to pick the speed the driver would be going as they crossed the finish line. The prize a $150 gift certificate to one of the sponsor's stores (winner's choice). Being someone who both loved NASCAR and contests, I was definitely entering it. So which driver did I pick? The weeks leading up to the race contained a number of special race events. The Bud Shootout, The Gatorade 125s. The Busch series race at Daytona. Guess who won them all? Dale Earnhardt Jr. The driver who lost his legendary dad in a last lap wreck at Daytona two years prior. Common sense would say not to bet against him. But my 12-year old self didn't believe in the sweep. So I picked his teammate and 2001 Daytona 500 winner Michael Waltrip. I didn't have any knowledge on what was a good speed to pick and did not have internet to look up average finishing speeds. So I figured 168mph was a good number. In reality, that speed is a bit on the slow side as the cars go around 200mph at Daytona and can hit that speed across most of the track. 

Race day came and I was glued to the TV. Dale Jr ran well most of the race and even led 22 laps. Waltrip ran well too, but it seemed Dale Jr was going to take the checkers. I thought I had blown it. Then, in a moment, a large crash happened, collecting Dale Jr in the process. No one was significantly hurt, but Dale Jr's chances of winning were gone. Rain was threatening all day and eventually moved into the area. Just over a hundred laps in and now at the halfway point, Michael Waltrip was leading and had led the majority of the laps to this point. Then around lap 104, the heavens opened and rain came falling. NASCAR officials put the race under caution and ran a handful of laps before realizing the rain wasn't going anywhere. Since the race had passed the halfway point, it was official. They called the race under caution and declare Michael Waltrip the winner. I was ecstatic, but instantly realized the race had ended under caution so the drivers were going between 35mph and 45mph. I could only wonder how many people picked Waltrip to win and thought for sure someone possibly picked a better tie-breaker speed than I did. 

Days later I had forgotten about the competition. I was eating lunch in our kitchen between home school classes when the landline rang. My mom answered the phone. "Hello Watkins", she said. Pause. "Yes." She looked at me with a funny look. "One second", she said. "It's for you." I had no idea who it was because I rarely got calls. "Hello?" I said. The lady on the other end introduced herself as someone from the Merchandiser. "I'm calling to tell you that you've won our NASCAR Pick the Winner of the Daytona 500 contest." I was stunned. I had been entering contests for years and I finally won something. She told me that I'd be receiving my prize in the mail. The sponsor I had chosen what a local sports apparel store called Instant Sports Replay. I'd never been in there, but knowing they had NASCAR stuff as well as NFL, NBA, and MLB merchandise, I knew that's where I wanted to go. 

A few days later, my parents took me and my siblings to ISR. My eyes grew huge with all the things I saw. Shirts, blankets, helmets, popcorn bins, pillows, jackets, and so much more all plastered in professional sports teams colors. A lot of things were pricy, so I had to choose wisely. After checking out the entire store, I ended up getting a Philadelphia Eagles throw blanket, a Denver Broncos body pillow (I liked the logo), a Philadelphia Eagles ballcap, and a Jeff Gordon shirt. I also gave some of the money to each of my siblings for them to pick out something. When I brought all those items home, I couldn't stop staring at them or using them. I had never had that many new and slightly expensive things before at one time that I could call my own. I took pretty good care of them as best I could. The Jeff Gordon shirt eventually wore out an is long gone. I wore that Eagles cap for a solid 7 years before I outgrew it. Now it rides on the back head rest of my car. The body pillow and blanket reside of my bed to this day, although the body pillow is near it's end of life. The blanket is still in excellent shape. They've survived 20 years and I'm still amazed.

As Winter's dull gloom melted into Spring, soccer season had returned. Very few of my teammates remained from the previous season as many new faces joined the squad. Our shirts were red this year and at the first practice, we picked a team name. A bunch of kids thought it would be cool to be called the Red Devils. Coach saw no issue with that and so that what our team was called...until it wasn't. Some parents were not too pleased and kindly asked the coach to rename the team. Coach broke the news to us and although there were a few groans, we managed to come up with something less hell-bound. The new name was the Red Rockets. That name became very ironic to me and I'll explain a bit later. 

One of the kids who joined another squad (due to a different practice night) was Eddie. I wasn't happy he was on a different team, but it sure was fun to play against him. In a game against his team, we played each other hard. So much so, that at one point, our feet became tangled and he went down. I stopped to give him a hand and help him up. I apologized and he had the biggest grin I had witnessed in a long time. He said something along the lines of "It's okay my friend, no worries." If there were more people like Eddie in this world, it would be a much better place.

I also need to make mention of another young lad who did join our squad. His name was Craagen (kraw-ghen). He loved mainly two things. Cars and British accents. When conversing with him he'd switch between his normal American accent and the British one he'd been trying to perfect. He was a bit of a strange fellow and yet we became good friends. 

Back to the reason why Red Rockets was ironic. That Christmas, my Uncle Bob and Aunt Cecilia sent me a model rocket kit. I had never had one before but was immediately interested. Having never built one I enlisted the help of Uncle Randy since he had built a bunch in his day. After an hour or so, we had a completed red, white, and blue, patriotic, ready-to-fly model rocket. But in order for it to take off, we needed to purchase one use engines from the store. So we did and one fine Saturday after finishing our soccer game, My Dad, myself, Dave, Uncle Randy, and a few of my siblings went to an open field at the school to launch rockets. It was cool inserting the engine and connecting the rocket to the launch pad. We did count-downs and even shouted blast-off! Pushing the launch button and watching that little rocket shoot thousands of  feet into the air was the highlight of my weekend. Even the parachute deploying and returning the rocket safely to earth was awesome. 

As we burned though our engines, we decided to do one more launch for both mine and Dave's rockets. And that's where double disaster struck. Dave went first and launched his rocket. instead of going up and out at an angle, a large gust of wind blew it up and then backwards. Both my dad and uncle shouted "uh-oh" and ran towards its wayward path hoping to warn any unsuspecting civilians nearby. That danger never became a reality because the rocket ended up crash-landing on the school roof. They tried to see if it blew off but nope...it was gone. Thinking lighting couldn't strike the same place twice, we still launched mine. As we did, the rocket took off, but with a smaller smoke trail than normal. Then the trail suddenly stopped, then started, and for some reason, spiraled away from the rocket. When the rocket landed, I went to retrieve it. The engine was gone. As was the tail cap that held it in place. I searched the area but could not find it. I knew what had happened. After I put the engine in, I knew it wasn't in properly because the tail cap did not click into place. I didn't want to have to pull everything out and reset it so I figured it was fine. My uncle and dad were unaware because I didn't tell them. My stupidity caused me to lose a crucial piece of that rocket and because of that (and the cost of rocket engines) that rocket never flew again. It was an incredible experience and a memorable day, but the joy was short lived.

By late spring, my third soccer season came to a close. We had an awards picnic where everyone received a nice little trophy as we did in season's past. I went to Jordan's after where we celebrated another great season and the fact that summer was approaching and we would soon be free from the chains of the school year. I was anticipating an amazing summer...

...that is until one fateful night in late May. It was a warm evening. The sun was just beginning to set and I was outside racing around on my Huffy bike. Then my dad called all of kids in the house for a family meeting. I had grown accustom to these because in the past couple of years we had a few of them all of which were related to my dad's job. What I didn't mention in previous chapters was that job my dad held for a long time was closing due to the owner retiring. The next job he found after that was located in Maryland, which may have seemed far, but we were close enough to the state boarders that the drive wasn't super long. After about a year of working there, he got offered a position with a local mechanic who he frequently took the family cars to when they needed work. All of those were the basis of the previous family meetings. And as much as I wasn't a fan of them (as they usually took me away from whatever fun I was having), I was never worried when they were called. But for some strange reason I can't explain, as I made my way towards the house that night, I had a gut feeling that this one was going to be bad...really bad. 

We all assembled in the living room and my stomach was in knots. My dad began explaining about the trips they had made to Toledo, OH in the past for church conferences and how during one of those times he had been approached by an elder who was putting on 10-month bible training in Cleveland, OH in late 2003. The elder had asked my dad to be part of it. As my dad continued speaking, I knew what was coming. My body was shaking, waiting for him to say the words. Finally they came "We're moving." And then I completely lost it.

The Story of My Life: Summer School of Truth

There was one event from 2002 that I excluded from the last chapter because it needed a section all of its own. That event was known as the Summer School of Truth. Each year, the church we met with in Dunn Loring, VA would host a four day bible camp for kids all across the Washington DC area. I hadn't heard about it beforehand because I wasn't old enough to go, but this year I was of proper age and Wesley's family invited me to attend. Now this meant being in another state and away from my parents for longer than a day. Normally, my anxiety would throw a hissy fit and prevent me from going. But since I was going to be staying at Wesley's house the whole time, my anxiety backed off just enough to allow me to go. I'm so glad I was able to do that because missing out on that would've been easily one of my life's regrets.

Now if you recall, Wesley's house was a little over 1.5 hours from mine. So how was I going to get there? My dad drove me. We reached Wesley's house and he stayed just long enough to talk with Wesley's dad for a bit before saying goodbye and then driving straight back to Pennsylvania. As a kid I didn't realize what a big deal that was, but many years later I sure did. It was also a bigger deal because I would be away from home for more than a few days. And I had know way of knowing when and how my anxiety would strike, but I knew the Bishops and to be able to do something like this was a big deal for me. 

I wasn't the only one staying at Wesley's house that week. Aside from him, his parents, and three siblings, there was a gentleman who was going through a bit of a rough patch and was living with them for the time being. There were also 4-5 other people all slightly older than I. To say it was a full house was a bit of an understatement. 

The week had a daily routine with some variance to it. There would be a morning meeting with everyone together for some singing and a short message. Between then and lunch we would break into small groups. Lunch followed and then an afternoon activity (these were my favorite). After the activity another break-out group followed by a break. Then came dinner and to finish the day off, a final evening meeting. 

There is something I forgot to mention. The summer school of truth ran for two weeks. I was joining during the second week. That meant everyone had a chance to meet each other and gel a bit. I did have my cast of familiar DC area faces in Andrew, Rebecca, Asher, and Morgan, but there were a over 100 kids there. I did have the disconcerting thought that I was going to be a bit of an outsider while riding Wesley's coattails. That thought was crushed in less than 24 hours from when my brain gave birth to it.

My plan was to stick with Wesley as much as possible. In doing so I found Wesley bantering with a young man slightly older than us. He had curly blonde hair, had a big smile, and a big voice. His name was Michael. I joined in the conversation to find that the two of them loved to engage in random battles of wits, which was what they were doing when I interrupted. Michael's personality rubbed off on me pretty quick and I had made my first new friend. 

They planned the first day back to be fun and relaxing. We were all split into multiple groups with chaperones. One of our chaperones was someone I mentioned in the Camp Wabanna chapter, but I didn't really say enough about him then. This man was Solomon Reed. I was really happy to see his large smile and willingness to serve youth for two weeks. As a young child and into my teenage years, this man made an impression on me. He was always happy to see me. He listened intently to my babbling, would take interest in things I was interested in, and would playfully jest at me now and then. And he was part of the group that took us bowling.

If my memory serves me well, that was the first time I had been bowling ever. Wesley, Michael, Michael's brother, and I all had a lane. Non of us were very good and I don't know if I ever broke 100, but we sure went nuts when anyone of us hit a strike. After a couple rounds, we had some time left and the chaperones gave us each a little change to play an arcade game or two. I chose Crusin' USA because it was an N64 game I had known well. This one was a stand up version with a steering wheel and gas pedal, but no seat. Solomon and another chaperone came over to watch. They took turns taking jabs at my crazy driving. Then at one point, I mashed the gas pedal and the screen glitched out. "What happened?" the other guy asked. "He's driving through a snowstorm now," Solomon quipped. I kept hitting the gas pedal and turning the wheel hoping the game would un-glitch, but it never did. "Uh-oh we lost him", Solomon laughed. I chuckled, shook my head, and had to leave the game to its glitch.

That afternoon had more surprises involved as all the guys were invited over to Wesley's house for a cookout and pool party. I've spoken highly of the Bishop's hospitality before, but this was a moment that made me appreciate them all the more. Not only were they hosting a houseful of people, but they welcomed 40+ rowdy teenagers into their home. It didn't dawn on me then, but that is an insane thing to do. I recall crazy flips into the pool, big beach ball battles, chicken fights, and not getting yelled at once for any of it. If a boy did go to far, Brian would get everyone's attention and say something along the lines of "While we all thought what [boy's name] did was cool, if he would've landed the other way, we may have needed an ambulance. Try doing it this way next time." The way he handled situations like that was noteworthy. 

Day 1 wrapped up and it was back to business for day 2. My bouts of anxiety were nowhere to be found as I kept meeting people, enjoyed the large group meetings, and was having a blast. Meal times were great because they allowed us to unwind from the schedule. We told jokes, learned strange and interesting things about each other, and at times created playful mischief. One night during dinner, Wesley was being a bit of a butthead. To get back at him, one of the boys we were joking with stuck a small apple chunk in his slice of cheesecake. Wesley glared at him like he had committed a royal sin. Wesley decided to keep his nonsense up and so the boy stuck a pretzel piece in the cheesecake. Then another boy slide a carrot through the dead center. I decided to get in on the fun and when Wesley wasn't looking, I pressed a piece of fruit into it. He caught me last second and started erupting. He called a serving one over and started ranting. "Look what they did to my cheesecake! They murdered it! They should be punished for these crimes! My cheesecake is destroyed!" The serving one examined the fruity slice, looked at each one of us and then said "Mmm looks tasty!" Wesley went ballistic. The rest of us at the table were laughing so hard we couldn't breath. Realizing the situation was hopeless, Wesley threatened revenge while disposing of his ruined dessert. 

The singing times were some of my favorite moments. Because I came from a small town, I didn't often experience singing contemporary Christian songs with large groups my age. But when 100+ voices came together, I felt alive. One particular song stood out to me during that week and it was written by a man named Howard Higashi. The song was titled What Made You Lord To Die For Me. It tells the story of someone who was an enemy of Christ, but Christ's love overcame that and saved the man. Really enjoyable.

While the schedule stayed mostly the same the rest of the week, there were some variances here and there. Like a field day at a local park. I remember playing hard, getting sweaty, and getting a kick out of the serving ones playing as well. The rest of the week went pretty smoothly. My anxiety didn't attack once, I met more fun people, and being able to hang out with Wesley, Andrew, and the rest of the DC area crew for more than just a weekend was a treat. 

The last night came quicker than expected. I blinked and the week was over. As a closing for the week, we had the privilege of watching a brand new documentary that was not yet shown anywhere else. It was a documentary on Howard Higashi. As we were gathering to watch it, I had noticed the man who had driven us from the Bishop's house to the meeting hall had left. My brain scrambled wondering how I was going to get home. The anxiety that I had managed to keep at bay came creeping in. I wandered through the crowd of people and up to Wesley who was in the front row. I asked him for his dad's phone number and he gave it to me hastily. I tried to memorize it but missed a few numbers so I came back and bugged him again. He wasn't thrilled. He rattled off the numbers in a hasty tone again and this time I got them. I made my way into the service office where I knew a landline existed. I picked up the phone with my shaking hands and dialed the Bishop's house. Five rings. No answer. Hung up and tried again. No answer. The anxiety pounced. I broke down fearing I was going to be stranded or forgotten about. As I was a blubbering mess, Solomon suddenly appeared. He must've heard my sobs and came to see what the matter was. I explained the situation through slurred words and tears. That man, in the calmest tone, told me not to worry, I had been great all week, and they would make sure I got back to the Bishop's that night. If there was a golden standard for human beings, Solomon fit that bill. 

I left the service office and stopped into the restroom to clear my face. I then rejoined my friends and enjoyed the rest of my evening. Then as the night was ending and people were headed home, there through the door came Brian Bishop. But he wasn't alone. With him came both my mom and my dad. I had no idea they were driving up and staying the night. Seeing them made me feel dumb for letting my fears get the best of me, but also brought a sense of peace. I ran over and began to ramble about my week. As I did, I noticed a big smile from Solomon. Everything was alright. 

And so ended my week in the summer school of truth. I learned some things about myself, met many swell folks, and even had some growing experiences. As early as a year before, I would've never agreed to do something like this. I had come along way, but still had a long way to go. And in the year to come, my will would be tested. But for now, I had a week to remember for a lifetime.

The Story Of My Life: Teen Years Come Knocking

Closing the door on my final years as a pre-teen kid wasn't easy, especially the avalanche 2001 sent crashing down. 2002 came with a hint of promise that things were going to get better, at least for the time being. It was all the little things that happened throughout that year that began to right the ship in my life.

Jordan, the kid I had become good friends with from my soccer team, and I began to hang out a lot more. Now Jordan lived a few miles from my house so if I went over, I was dropped off. But if the weather was good, I would ask my mom if I could bike there. As an 11 year-old kid, I was allowed to bike by myself, down two lane highways, a few miles away, with no cellphone, and it was no problem. I didn't even have to call her to tell her I made it there. The only stipulation I had was to be back at a certain time. What a time to be alive. It was also a treat for me to be able to go over to his house because he had a PlayStation 1 with Tony Hawk's Pro Skater. When I think of classic childhood video games, that one was easily top 5. With all the different game modes, challenges, and maps you had to skate your way through, hours would tick on by, yet it felt like a few fleeting minutes. Most young boys who played that game had some urge to get into skateboarding, me included. You better believe the skateboard I put on my present list that year was in relation to Tony Hawk.

A memory I love to revisit was created at Jordan's as well. One day, after we took a break from gaming, we had left an opened bag of Doritos on his bed while we had gone to another part of the house. Not long after that, we heard the familiar crinkling sound of the chip bag. We bolted back up to his room to find his dog (Belle) with the bag of chips stuck on her head. I fell on the floor laughing while he corralled the dog and removed the bag. "Dang it she ate all the Doritos!" Jordan said in disgust. I still chuckle when I picture that scene.

February brought a brief moment that impacted me for years to come. My first Super Bowl I watched start to finish. It was just me, in my parent's bedroom, staring at a tiny tube tv. Kurt Warner's St. Louis Rams and defending champs took on the New England Patriots and a back-up QB in his first season known as Tom Brady. You all know the story. A legend was born that night and I watched in awe as Adam Vinatieri kicked the Patriots to victory and begin what was known as the Brady Era.

To me, 2002 was a huge year for pop culture in TV and movies. Ice Age, Lilo & Stitch, and Toby McGuire's Spider-Man all made their debuts. My family still to this day quotes Ice Age (and some of its sequels) in casual conversation. American Idol also made its debut taking the US by storm with Kelly Clarkson winning season 1. 

As summer made its welcomed appearance, it brought some memorable times as it usually did. One of the first was when an entire family from another part of the world came to visit. I do not know how Al and Sue knew them, but this family came all the way from Saipan to our little dot on the map of a town. A quick geography lesson. Saipan is an island located north of Guam in the middle of the Pacific. I had never before heard of it until they showed up. There were also a lot of kids. I want to say at least five, but my mind refuses to give me the exact number. So what did Al & Sue do with a house full of people? Well they invited more people over of course! My whole family went, as did Alice, Melinda, Joanna, Chalene, Cam, and a slew of other people. We were in for a wild night.

While the adults talked and hung out on Al's front porch, 15+ kids ran amok under the setting summer sun. With our new found friends, we played scores of games such as hide-and-seek, manhunt, and whatever else we made up that night. One crazy thing some of us boys decided to do was take a beat-up toy riding jeep and see how crazy we could drive it. Cam wanted to test the limits the most, so he told a group of boys to push him down the hill and into the creek. They obliged and he cheered as it picked up speed and did end up in the creek. One of the boys from Saipan thought it would be even crazier to drive it off the little foot bridge. So he did. Somehow, during all of our shenanigans, no one got hurt. I don't really remember too much more from that night other than the fact that there was a lot of love from everyone. 

The ones from Saipan stayed another week or so before leaving, but that experience was crucial in my life for a few reasons. The first being that I never really interacted with kids from that culture before. The area I grew up in did have people of different races and backgrounds, but they were so few and far between as the overwhelming majority was white. So for me to meet boys my age, with light brown skin, and from another part of the world, it showed me how a like we all truly were. They enjoyed similar things as I did, had no problem playing our games (some of which they knew), and were fun people. I think the biggest kicker for me was when I had asked them if they had seen Ice Age yet thinking new American movies hadn't reached that part of the world. I was dead wrong. They had seen Ice Age plus many others I rattled off. Life lesson for sure.

Fall brought in my second season of soccer and this time we got yellow shirts. The new team name was the ever original Yellow Jackets. We had a good number of familiar faces return plus some new ones, but we also did have a few say good by. Alan moved up to the high school ranks and played on the travel team. Both Garrett and Ashley did not return and I didn't see them in the league that season so I could only speculate that they aged-out as well. Emily was no longer able to practice on our weekly night so she unfortunately switched teams. As for Cody, he wasn't old enough to age out and I could not recall whether or not he too played for a different team, but he was no longer on ours. We did gain nine new players to fill the holes left by the departed. Three of the new squad members made a quick impression. The first was Eddie. Dude was full of jokes, high energy, and could be very aggressive on the ball. The next was Samantha, Sam for short. She was quite athletic and like Emily before her, had a big smile filled with sunshine. The last was my sister Sarah who decided she wanted to take her backyard skills to the actual pitch. 

There were no legendary games that season, but there sure were a few intense ones. We had to learn how to gel with our new team-mates as well as our assistant coach who was Eddie's dad. That man had a thick black mustache, a big smile, and a passion for soccer. I could see at that age the how he wanted to instill that in his son. Not only was Eddie good, but was a carefree and caring at the same time. I'm glad to have met him.

As the soccer season came to a close, my birthday came and I was eleven no more. I had entered the final of my preteen years and couldn't have been more excited. What was 2003 going to bring? I could only wonder. But little did I know then, 2003 was going to challenge 2001 with its own extreme roller coaster of emotions, events, and general chaos. The championship fight for challenging years was about to begin.

The Story of My Life: The Sno Cone Man and The Storm

As I continue alone this writing journey, I keep recalling things I want to include but only remember long after I have passed their timeframe. But that's what flashbacks are for right? Let me introduce you to the sno cone man. When I was a toddler living in Hanover, there was an ice cream truck that roamed the streets in the summer. That sweet summer music was magic coming down the street. Having a bad day? The ice cream jingle melted the haze. Sadly, it did not follow us when we landed in Abbottstown, PA. Sometime between the summer of 2000 and 2002, an all too familiar melody could be heard from a distance. Not having known that frozen goodness on wheels for years, I flew out of the house and flagged the little truck down the only way I knew how. "STOP! STOP!" I yelled. My shouts appeared to do the trick as the white truck rolled to a stop. But to my surprise, it did not contain ice cream. It was loaded with sno cones. I was also expecting an older man in a white hat to be behind the wheel. Instead the driver was a young man with dark black hair who looked like college was in his life's path. When I asked how much a sno cone was, he said "75 cents". I was ecstatic as I had plenty of quarters in my room. I asked him to wait and as I was running back into my house, my siblings were spilling out of the front door. We grabbed our quarters and lined up at his truck. We watched as he packed paper cones with ice and swirled those flavored filled bottles of sugary liquid over top. He handed me mine and while it was nothing fancy, it was still the best taste of summertime the three quarters could buy.

The sno cone man found out really quick that some of his best business was on our little street. It wasn't long before Maggie, Katherine, Zach, Abby, and Krista discovered his truck. Anytime he drove up our street after that, he'd have no trouble selling sno cones. There came days I couldn't walk up to Rutters to get a candy bar and pop because I had spent that money on sno cones. Zach was a bit picky and only ever ordered the grape flavor. Not sure why he didn't like the rest, but it was always grape for him. Banana and blue raspberry were my go-tos. There were days where I had a sixth sense and expected to hear the music before it even played. One of those days I had stopped his truck at the beginning of the street and as I was making my way into the house, Tim appeared while yelling "STOP!" only to find that I had beat him to it.

The sno cone man created bonding experiences. If his truck rumbled up the street and none of us were out, we would be soon and all the neighborhood kids would end up playing together while enjoying those frosty treats. He knew his customers and knew he could get a lot of sales rolling up our street. There were some days which none of us wanted (or could afford) a sno cone, but that didn't stop him from coming our way time and time again. 

Eventually, the summer came to a close, he and his truck disappeared for the season. We understood why he only came around in the summer, but that didn't mean we were okay with it. Sometimes we counted the days until he came back. The next summer finally arrived and the anticipation was high. June made herself known, but there was no sno cone man. No happy music coming from a truck. No nothing. We wondered if he was okay or if he even still drove the truck. Then one fateful afternoon in July, I was playing outside when suddenly a familiar tune was heard down the street. My siblings and I dropped everything and charged in the direction of the sound. As we got closer we began shouting "STOP!" The familiar white truck obliged and more of our friends appeared, having heard the magical sound. As we lined up at the truck, quarters in hand, eager to make that frosty purchase, our expressions became shocked as the driver was not the familiar sno cone man we all knew. Instead, it was a much older woman. We wondered where the sno cone man was, but didn't have the courage to ask. But the truck came and still sold sno cones and that's what mattered. We placed our orders and the lady began making them. The first one she bungled and instantly tossed the flavored ice out the window. "Sorry that one wasn't good," she said. She quickly made another. She made the others smoothly, took our money, and drove off. The sno cones were still good, but for some reason they didn't taste the same. And the even sadder part of this story was that the lady who was now driving the truck never once drove up our street again. The music didn't play and no frosty goodness for us. The answer as to why is still a mystery. My mom suspected the truck was a summer job for the sno cone man and that he had gone off to college. Whatever the case was, that one summer he faithfully and constantly roamed our streets was a summer to remember.

Big storms. I hated them especially at night thanks to the Camp Wabanna experience. But one in particular was a storm to remember. My grandparents were out of town and had asked my dad to check on the house while they were gone. My parents had to run errands one of those nights so we all had to go along. We stopped by their house on the way back. My mom stayed in the car while dad ran inside. As I looked out the back window of that old Chevy Lumina mini van, I could see the clouds rolling in. The wind picked up like mad and began to whip the large maple tree out front back and forth with intense ferocity. I had witnessed many storms in my day, but something told me this one was going to be different. The rain came next in a torrent. I knew my dad was waiting it out inside and we were stuck in the metal van. After being nearly silent the whole time, I spoke up and said "There's going to be a lot of trees down and branches everywhere when we get home." My mom, not wanting my anxiety to kick in said calmly "No it's just another storm, we've been through these before. We'll be fine." Finally the storm began to move on. My dad appeared out of the house. He locked it and rushed to the car. I once again announced there was going to be a mess of trees at home, with no evidence of this happening at my grandparent's house. "It'll be fine" my dad said. 

I was quiet the whole ride home. The rains had pretty much left and the wind was non-existent. We pulled the van into our gravel driveway. Suddenly my parents became very quiet. They started talking in low whispers. I couldn't see much from the back seat but I knew something was up. Finally, they got out and let us out too. I jumped out and my jaw dropped. My prediction had come true. Large branches were down everywhere. Some trees had their tops completely snapped off. Some were leaning against others and some on the ground. Never before had I seen so much chaos. "I told you!" I shouted triumphantly. As I couldn't contain my surge of adrenaline, I saw a site that wrecked my current state. Up by the little brown shed my mom had a patio table with a metal frame and a glass top. She would leave that out all summer and never had an issue. We ate many lunches and some dinners on it. But now it laid crushed beneath a massive tree branch. The glass top was shattered into a million pieces. A faithful table of many years destroyed by a rogue branch. "I had a feeling to put that inside," my mom mumbled. Then she sighed. Since it was getting dark, my parents wouldn't let us explore much more. As we entered the house, my dad flipped the light switch and nothing happened. The digital clock on the microwave was off. The power was out. The landline still worked. Since my grandparents were out of town, all we could do was hunker down and ride it out until the power company restored the power.

The next day was blue skies and sunny. Eager to explore, we kids raced outside. The carnage was greater than we thought. Branches covered the ground from twigs to widowmakers. Once mighty trunks that stood tall were now sleeping giants. Tree tops that birds called home were decapitated without mercy. But to us, kids without cell phones or youtube, we had a whole new playground to explore. The branches we gathered to make forts, tepees, and shelters. The tree heads upon the ground with all their leaves made for great hiding spots and we used our imaginations to make them pirate ships, secret caves, rockets to the moon, or whatever fun fantasies our minds could conjure. And as for the full trees that toppled, those became massive balance beams, obstacle courses, and new tree climbing routes. It was practically Christmas in July. 

The storm that caused the scenes I just described actually turned out to be way worse than it seemed. You'd think because we had so many trees that's why the destruction was high on our end. But it took multiple days to restore the power. And in the process they cut through the phone lines leaving us with no electricity nor access to anyone else within shouting distance. But as much destruction as that fateful storm caused, it didn't shake me like it should've. Yes the power and phone was out. Yes everywhere was a mess. Yes the situation seemed grim. But in a time where life was a little more simple, we made the most out of a bad situation. The house and car was undamaged. Nobody we knew was hurt. Patio tables can be replaced. The power would eventually be restored. In those few weeks that it took for the country club to get their maintenance team to clean up and remove all the debris, my siblings, the neighborhood kids, and myself had many adventures that only that storm and a little imagination could provide. Storms may rage, but they don't last. It's what you make of the aftermath and how you handle it that truly defines your character. 

The Story of My Life: Told and Untold Mischief

Kids are troublemakers. That's a fact no sane adult can deny. Mischief is fun, but can have its consequences. I know this all too well because I created, caused, and covered-up said mischief. This chapter will contain some of those tales, told and untold. They will also be in no particular order. We shall begin with tales from the country club.

It was a crisp fall evening. The sun was just beginning to set. My siblings and I were all playing in the northern part of the woods not far from the maintenance garage. We were joined by Zack and Abbi. The garage was all locked up for the day and being curious kids, we noticed some decent sized piles of gravel not far from the garage. Being very imaginative children, we crept on over and climbed the gravel pile. We treated the pile as our ship and we were brave sailors, hunting great ocean beasts. A couple of us actually had pretend spears. These spears were 1"x1" wooden garden stakes tied to a long rope. Whenever we pretended an ocean creature passed by, we would hurl our spears as far as child arms could toss them, yell GOTCHA, and then quickly haul our catch back in. Rinse and repeat. Technically, we weren't supposed to be there. The garage area was off limits as a lot of big equipment was used there and it really was no place for children. But all the doors were locked, no one was a round, and those gravel piles were begging to be climbed. Suddenly, as we were about to sail the 7th sea, the sound of a golf cart motor rumbled in the distance. It grew increasingly louder. Before we could react, two scary looking guys came flying around the building in a golf cart. As soon as we saw them, we all bolted. As we fled for our lives, a "Hey you kids get out of here!" was shouted after us. We managed to retreat to the woods without further incident, but poor Abbi was the last to escape and she was upset that we had "left her behind". I can't confirm whether our mischief was reported to our parents, but that was a situation I chalked up to a no harm no foul type of deal.

Continuing on with the garage, the areas around the dumpsters had many things that a child would fancy. Cool metal parts and pieces from worn out equipment, old golf balls and golf tees, poker chips, and other sorts of "treasures." I loved to sneak over there on a regular basis, but the problem was that I'd have to do it during the day while work was still going on. This was because I wasn't allowed out long after dark. I'd have to make sure that the workers were completely out of site and that no one at the main building was out on the patio where I could be spotted. Then I'd slip through the woods and the moment I stepped out, I had to make a mad dash for the back of the dumpsters. If I was successful up to that point, then I'd have to carefully creep around on the ground searching for the goods while keeping an ear open for anything that would tip me off that someone was coming. Then, as I showed my siblings and Melinda and Joanna my hauls, they wanted in on the action too. Well I didn't want to risk them getting caught and blowing up my whole operation, so anytime they were around and I went for a haul, I had them stay at the edge of the woods while I went in. I usually had to act quick for fear that one of them would make too much noise. But things managed to mostly work out. The closest I came to ever being caught was a time where I discovered more golf balls had been deposited near the front of the dumpster. I crept out from the back and laid down in front of it, working quickly to collect as many golf balls as I could. Suddenly, the hair on the back of my neck shot up. I heard nothing, but I popped up and bolted behind the dumpster. About one minute later, a single golf cart came cruising in from behind the building very slowly. A man in a gray hoodie and dark sunglasses was at the wheel. He drove slowly through the area and took a long look at the dumpster. I thought for sure I was toast. He eventually drove on and out of view. I waited a few more minutes before fleeing my hiding spot and back through the woods, golf balls and all. I'm pretty sure that was the last time I attempted that stunt.

As you know by now, we came up with many uses for walnuts. The day is discovered they made loud popping sounds when crushed under heavy weight was a game changer. The entrance and exits to the country club were two separate and narrow drives which ran along the edge of our front yard and never had a lot of traffic, except on the weekends. One lazy summer afternoon, I scooped up a shirt full of walnuts and went down by the exit drive. I made sure the coast was clear, then proceeded to strategically place walnuts on the exit drive, making sure to look like they simply fell off a tree. When a car came, I would duck behind the nearest tree and wait. Unfortunately for me, some of the walnuts rolled off and others were simply brushed by passing car tires. After a handful of failed attempts, I replaced them one more time and added more to make sure that at least one would be crunched. As I was doing so, I heard the low hum of a car engine. I turned around and saw a light gold Cadillac headed towards me. No time to hide, I quickly moved off the road and acted like I was playing with nearby sticks. Not my best of ideas, but I had no choice. I slightly turned and watched as the car rolled slowly towards the walnuts. Keeping its speed, it hit two of them in succession. POP! POP! The echo through the pines amplified the sound of the tires crushing them. I was so happy. But then the brake lights came on. The car came to a complete stop. A fairly old gentleman got out. I became frozen and dared not breathe. He walked around the car, carefully inspecting each tire. After he had looked at all four, he turned and stared at me and I gave him a confused look. But I was terrified. He then turned around, got back into his caddy, and drove off. I breathed a sigh of relief, started laughing, and then promptly reset the remaining walnuts with the hope that they too would soon be crushed. However, dinner was now ready and I had to leave my harmless prank behind without a witness. 

One summer we had a camping experience at Al and Sue's. Me, my siblings, my parents, Cam and Chalene, Matt, Curt, Missy, Alice, Melinda, Joanna, and two other young children whose names I cannot recall, all camped in the woods across the creek behind Al and Sue's house. We spent the evening goofing off and being carefree kids. At one point, a few of our group, who shall not be identified, wandered off. I eventually located them and asked what they were doing. One person had a small bottle of vanilla extract. Someone had mentioned that there was alcohol in vanilla extract and being dumb kids, it was a "cool" thing to try. I thought it was stupid because it was a cooking ingredient and I didn't believe it actually had alcohol (it does). They said to try it anyway and my curiosity got the better of me. Vanilla extract smells really good and does wonders in the world of baking, but after taking a small swig of the stuff, I discovered quickly it wasn't worth it. I ended up with a weird taste in my mouth and my nose stung. That was the first and last time I drank vanilla extract.

The camping adventure actually contained a second set of mischief. Some in the group thought it would be funny to pull some scare pranks on the smaller kids. When everyone was in their tents and winding down, those few snuck out and began creeping through the woods. They began making animal sounds and chucking small objects at some of the tents. Their plan worked as some of the smaller kids were convinced bears were nearby. Their cover was nearly blown as some adults went to investigate, but they managed to lay low until the flashlights passed and were able to make it back to their tents unspotted. I only got the full story the next morning.

KB Toys was a popular toy store franchise in the 90s that sadly no longer exists. There was one in our local mall and our parents would take us whenever we went because a number of the toys could be tested without having to buy anything. For a long time, there was a particular toy that was a staple to that store. It was a rainbow colored talking parrot on a plastic log as a perch. It was motion activated and the moment you started talking to it, it repeated back to you what you said in a parrot-like voice. Now there was a whole aisle of these things and every one had batteries. So you can imagine the torture the store employees went through every time kids set them off. Thankfully the makers of this toy had the sense of mind to make the parrot speak gibberish if someone tried to get them to repeat something vulgar. When we first discovered it, instantly it became the coolest toy in the store. One visit became hilarious for me and awkward for the guy at the cash register. They had one of those parrots up there and my brother Tim and I took turns saying phrases to it and laughing as it spoke them back. Well I took this perfect opportunity to take a shot at Tim. Once my turn came, as soon as the parrot fell silent, I half shouted "Timmy is a dumb-head!" The parrot squawked back "Timmy is *gibberish*head! Timmy is a *gibberish*head!" The parrot garbled the word "dumb", but I swore is repeated the word pretty darn close. I was laughing, my brother was not. Nor were the store employee or my parents. My mom told me that wasn't nice and we made our way out of the store. Normally I would feel bad, but I couldn't get over the fact I got a toy to call my brother a silly name.

This next tale tells of a time when I caused trouble, blamed it on my sister, and got away with it. It was one of our first years in the ranch house in Abbottstown, PA. My parents had a large Christmas tree in the living room. It was fully adorned with large and colorful ornaments. And when I say fully adorned, I mean they were even hanging on the lowest branches, not far from the floor. On a day I was bored, I had a small ball in my hand. I glanced at the tree and noticed I could create a game. The goal was this: roll the ball as fast as I can across the living room floor and right under the tree. That was it. So I began sending that little ball across the faded green carpet and under the tree, over and over. But then it happened. The ball hit the back wall, took a bad hop, ricocheted back, and knocked a metallic bauble off the tree. It was so frail, it shattered. I was horrified because I knew I was a dead duck. Thinking quickly, I took the ball and gave it to Sarah who was playing nearby. She couldn't really talk yet so all I had to do was spin my story straight. I yelled for my mom to make it seem like I had made a discovery. She came in and noticed the shattered bauble mess on the floor. "What happened!" she cried. "Sarah was playing too close to the tree and she knocked it off." I replied. My mom sighed and moved Sarah out of the room. She came back and began picking up the bigger pieces. Finally she returned with the vacuum to finish the job. The bauble wasn't an important one so no major loss, but I didn't get in trouble. And the ornaments on the lower branches were moved higher on the tree. Mischief achieved.

Most of the other mischief I can recall before my teenage years was nothing spectacular. Just a bunch of typical, petty pre-teen stuff. The teenage years is where things got a bit more crazy. I may do another "tales" entry, but most will be sprinkled in as I continue along. Stay tuned readers, because rough seas will soon be returning to these pages.

The Story Of My Life: My Professional Soccer Career

The title is misleading, but as an 11 year old kid finally getting to play a team sport, I felt like I was a professional. As mentioned in the previous chapter, I had received a birthday present which signed me up for an intramural soccer league. Before this point, I had never played any sport with a coach, an organized team, uniforms, and all that jazz. But now I was going to experience the thrill of sport in its full glory.

Springtime had sprung and the 2002 intramural soccer season had begun. Each night of the week (including Sunday) had a coach and a practice assigned to it. Whichever night our parents put us in was how we ended up with a team. Mine picked Thursday. Maybe it was fate. Maybe it was destiny. Maybe it was dumb luck. But I ended up with an awesome coach and on a team where I made a really close new friend.

My coach's name was Dave. I did not know this before, but he owned the farm down the street from my grandparent's house as well as the storage locker business in the heart of town. He was an older gentleman who rocked a mean salt and pepper mustache. His passion was that kids would learn and fall in love with the game of soccer. While winning was nice, the only thing that mattered to him was if you had fun. Even though we were an intramural league with no playoffs, we were still given uniforms. Each team got a set of shirts with a specific color and ours was maroon. We then had to pick a team name. One kid suggested stewed prunes to be funny. That kid would be the one who became a close friend. After a number of names were suggested, they were put to a vote and by majority, we became the Timberwolves.

"Who were the Timberwolves?" is a question you may have asked yourself a sentence ago. Well let me introduce you. We had two tall kids who I affectionally called the Bash Brothers (a mighty duck reference) called Alan and Chris. They were biological brothers and the oldest kids on our squad. There was Garrett who played as if he was going to make soccer a career one day. Emily had a big smile and sweet complexion, but was always in position to make a play on the field. Cassie was a player who gave her all and could occasionally catch an opponent off guard. Ashley was a soccer player with a rugby build. She was fairly aggressive and it wasn't uncommon to see some smaller boys get out of her way. Jennifer was the gentle giant. Extremely tall for her age and had a look that would make you think twice, but in reality, she wouldn't harm a fly. Cody was what I would call a constant burst of energy. A short-fused rocket that could unleash his fury in a moment's notice. Jason was a hustler who was always making someone laugh and a thrill to be around. And last of the full time players was Jordan a.k.a. "Stewed prunes" kid. Like Jason, he had a great sense of humor and was a dedicated athlete. There were a few other kids who on the team who didn't make every game or practice, but they too contributed to the team when they were around.

I'm not really sure why I out of all the kids I knew that it was Jordan and I who became close friends. Maybe it was his personality, maybe his humor, or maybe it was because we shared similar interests and were close in age. Whatever was the cause, I'm glad I met him. He was always my go-to guy when I needed to dump the ball. We were true soccer bros.

As stated previously, the league was intramural. This, in short, means every game is played on the same location on the same field. There were no standings, no playoffs, not ultimate trophy, but rather a fun league where kids enjoyed playing actual games with each other. Now even with those statutes, kids were still very competitive. We wanted to win, losing could be rough, and since we played some teams multiple times, we created "friendly" rivalries. 

My first experience with a fresh rivalry was from my very first game. Remember how I said the reason I was in soccer was because of a birthday present from my buddy Joe? Well we played his team in week one. Another friend of his that I knew was also on that team. His name was also Josh. Josh's mom was that team's coach. She was very intense, enthusiastic, and pushed her kids as far as they were willing to go. They were a really good team. We were a competitive team ourselves so naturally we wanted to win and win big. And this game was a doozy.

The sun was bright and warm for a mid spring day. The atmosphere was electric as the season was just beginning. We took the field filled with excitement as all the parents and younger siblings cheered us on. Coach Dave assigned me to the striker position as my first assignment. As we waited for the ref to blow his whistle, I was giddy with anticipation of an opportunity to score in my first game. A shrill blast was heard an off we went. We gained an early possession but couldn't break the defense. Then came an opening. I made a move and tore off down the field. I was open enough to receive a beautiful pass and began charging towards the goal. As I made a cut that was a bit on the sloppy side, an opponent's leg swung hard for the ball and missed and I suddenly felt like clothes in a dryer. I popped back up immediately and before I could find the ball, the ref let out a blast of his whistle. He awarded me a penalty kick! And the foul occurred inside the goalie box. It was me versus the goalie and I was as close as I could get to a sure thing. I stood a few feet off the ball, staring the goalie down, waiting for the ref's signal. I heard Josh's mom shouting above the noise encouraging her goalie that she could handle this. I saw the nervousness on the poor girl's face. But I was determined to sink that ball in the back of the net. TWEEEEEET! I charged. The goalie barely flinched. I swung my foot with all my might and connected with the ball. The ball weakly rolled to the right and the goalie made the easiest save of her life. My inexperience and overconfidence led to too much power, no aim, and weak contact. Dang. My moment of glory was gone just like that. I had to tuck my head and bolt the other direction as the goalie launched the ball downfield. I can't recall the final score of the game that day, but I remember that they beat us by 3-4 goals. They were better than advertised and with that, a rivalry was born. 

Our team slogged through ups and downs that season. We lost more than we won, including some disappointing draws. But I was having fun and realized I had missed out by not joining a team sport sooner. Even with defeat, we were still having fun with each other. A bunch of kids who were mostly strangers before the season began, were now a great group of friends. 

Every game came with excitement, some a bit more than others. One game we played in the pouring rain. Kids were sliding, mud was flying, and the ball zoomed around like a greased pig. I drew the unfortunate luck of having to play goalie that game, a position which I was not fond of because I wanted to be involved in most of the action and not be confined to one space. Little did I know that I was going to make the play of my life. In the second half, the rain came down harder. We were deadlocked with neither side giving in. At one point I got bored and looked down. When I looked up, I saw a mob a of kids and a ball coming at me. I thought I was in position to cut the ball off, but was completely out of position instead. My opponent blew by me and had an open net. Oh snap! I was a dead turkey. Instead of admitting defeat, I turned and charged back towards the goal. My legs were burning but I had to do something. My opponent waited until the last second to take the shot. As the ball began skidding across the grass towards an empty net, I gave one last burst, went airborne, arched my body towards the ball, and swung my outstretched arm at its mass. My finger tips connected and the ball careened harmlessly out-of-bounds while my head nearly missed clocking the goal post. I did not realize I had made the save until i got to my feet and heard the cheers of the impressed parents. That moment slightly made up for my blown goal at the beginning of the season...slightly. Another strange thing that happened was that we actually stopped play in the middle of another game because a deer made its way out of the woods and very close to the field. Us kids didn't know what to do, the ref was just as confused, and there were some concerned parents that it would charge. Eventually the ref resumed play and our assistant coach went out and chased it off. There was never a dull moment playing this game. 

There is one game from my first season that I'll never forget. It was a rematch against our rivals from week 1. The Saturday it was scheduled for was rudely interrupted by Mother Nature as she sent forth strikes of lightning. Too dangerous to play, the game was rescheduled for a Wednesday evening. The anticipation was killing me. I wanted so badly for a second shot. To make up for my whiffed goal. Wednesday came and the sky was filled with the setting sun. But the atmosphere was different. The Saturday crowd was absent. The only fans were the few parents who made it out for an odd mid-week game. From opening kick-off, the game was intense. Nobody was giving an inch. Both sides were playing as if a championship was on the line. Then we broke through first with a brilliant goal. The celebration was short lived as they answered with a goal of their own. It wasn't long before they put another ball in the back of the net. Their side had a larger support system so the louder cheers made things a bit tougher to handle. But we kept fighting and managed to score to bring the game back to a draw. There were a few more close calls, but we managed to stay even. Then, by a stroke of luck, we scored to take the lead. Our spirits soared as we though we were going to finally get the monkey off our backs. But yet again, our joy was short lived as they answered right away to tie the game at 3-3. The clock was winding down and we knew it. Neither side wanted a draw, but it was going to be more devastating for us to not be able to beat them. But we weren't done until that whistle blew. An errant pass from them sailed out of bounds in their half of the field. We earned a throw-in. The ball came my way and I looked upfield and saw Chris on a break. I quickly sent him the ball. He trapped it, made a move, cut further up field, and took the shot. That beauty of a ball sliced the air for a harmonious sounding swish of the net. I couldn't believe it. The roar heard from our side of the field broke sound barriers. I looked and saw my mom with her arms in the air, excited for us. That moment was glorious. The ref set the ball and gave the go ahead with his whistle. The other team put the ball in play and 30 seconds later, the ref blew his whistle to end the match. We had done it. We beat the best team in the league and it felt like we had one the World Cup. I didn't score a goal, but that didn't matter. We played as a team, we fought as a team, and we won as a team. No hard feelings were felt between the two sides as we gave walked by high-fiving and saying "good game". My buddy Joe smacked my hand pretty hard to let me know that wasn't easy. This is what "for the love of the game felt like." And it was magical.