Looking In The Mirror

People will forget what you did, but people will never forget how you made them feel. ~ Maya Angelou

The year was 1971. I had tried out for and made the St. Gerald Grammar School 5th and 6th grade football team. We were the Giants, the St. Gerald Giants. I was so proud of myself.

I remembered we practiced every week day, every week day we did our calisthenics, our sprints, and practiced our plays. I remember the coaches yelling at us to work hard, to work harder. I remember the gut busting leg lifts, the bear walk races that had us on all fours, feet and hands, moving as fast as we could in full equipment the twenty or thirty yards that was the race course. I remember the physical pain of running until I felt like I was going to puke.

Most of all, I remember the coaches. None of the memories tied to the coaches are good. In fact, they all bring pain.  I remember the embarrassment of being nicknamed Sally because I did not hit the tackling dummy hard enough. Despite showing up every week and trying my best for the team, the coach never put me in the game. Every Sunday on the sidelines, I asked if I was going to play that day, and every time being told, no, not today. I remember every time being disappointed anew, I remember questioning my self worth because a boys status in my school was defined by playing football. I remember the emotional pain, the carnage the coach heaped upon my spirit when I was yelled at, screamed at, belittled, and never given the opportunity to play. The team lost every game that season sometimes by big scores. It wasn't like I could lose a game for the team when we had already lost by half time.


I didn't play in 7th grade, did not even bother trying out for the team. Why would I invest so much of my time in practices when I knew my reward would just be another year of ridicule and no playing time. It took a long time for me to recover my self-esteem from my experience with youth football.
The coach asked my parents why I didn't try out. All they knew was that I didn't want to play again, all they knew was their little boy was no longer interested in football. I wish the coach would have asked me and, if he did, I wish I would have had the courage to tell him the real reason I would never again play football on an organized team. I wish I would have told him, he could find the reason I quit playing football simply by looking in the mirror.