My mom sent me a picture after the last competitive game of soccer I will ever play. The picture is slightly blurry, the kind of blurry that results when the camera focuses on the background rather than the subject. You can make out the figure of a five or six year old, a soccer ball under her right arm, with what looks like a bagel firmly gripped in the other. It’s recognizably me in the picture, as my hairstyle hasn’t changed that much since I was six, maybe a little longer and blonder but otherwise the same. I’m pretty sure the T-shirt I’m wearing is from the first soccer team I ever played on. We were called the Golden Eagles, a majestic name for a group of six year olds. There’s a contorted expression on my face. I can only guess the cause. On one hand, the expression might mean I-don’t-want-my-picture-taken, directed at my Dad, who is probably behind the camera. The other possibility, the more likely one, is that I am trying to hold back tears. If someone else were to see the picture they might not see it. But I know that face too well, primarily because it feels as if my entire soccer career were consumed by trying to hold back those tears.
Identifer | oai:union.ndltd.org:CLAREMONT/oai:scholarship.claremont.edu:cmc_theses-2614 |
Date | 01 January 2017 |
Creators | Faust, Katelyn |
Publisher | Scholarship @ Claremont |
Source Sets | Claremont Colleges |
Detected Language | English |
Type | text |
Format | application/pdf |
Source | CMC Senior Theses |
Rights | © 2017 Katelyn A Faust, default |
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