Smelling Memories

I spent several mornings last week in a place I never thought I would hang out with the A Team. A place that held so many memories for me. Memories that were both good and bad. It was the place I experienced my first heartbreak. It was the place I experienced that feeling of being a part of something bigger than me. It was the place I embarrassed myself over and over. It was the place I felt pride in myself. It was the place I couldn't wait to go to and the place I tried to avoid.

That place was my high school gym. Not much had changed other than the gym floor now said, "Titans" instead of "Redskins" and the building is a middle school instead of a high school. Everything else felt the same.

Even though I was sitting their watching my girls hit volleyballs into the net, I could hear the faint sound of basketballs balls bouncing off the floor as the familiar smell filled my nose. I was smelling memories. I was sent back 20+ a few years when I decided as a freshman that I wanted to play basketball, even though I hadn't ever played any sport before. I could remember all of the suicides I had to run, all the times I tripped over painted lines, all the times I missed easy shots, all the times I silently begged my couch to not put me in a game, and all the times I cheered in my head when the buzzer went off at the end of the game and I didn't go in.

The truth is, I knew I wasn't as good as most of my teammates. How could I be? I played for 5 minutes compared to the years and years the other girls put in. I didn't care that I wasn't as good. I just loved being a part of the team. I loved having something I had to do after school and on the weekends. I had so much fun that year getting to know people I wouldn't have known otherwise, people who cheered for me when I finally made a shot, people who stood beside me when an older scarier girl thought it would be funny to pick on a random freshman. Thanks to my new people, it wasn't me! I loved having people.

Then, as my back started to ache from sitting in the bleachers for a couple of hours everyday this week, the painful memories started to hit me. I was brought back to my sophomore year when I was one of two people cut from my beloved basketball team. The new coaches didn't appreciate my spirit. The new coaches didn't understand my love of the game. The new coaches didn't see my desire to happily sit on the bench just so I could be a part of the team. It wasn't in the plan. I was offered the role of stat keeper, but my mom said "No way" in a beautiful letter she wrote to the new coaches.

Then out of the painful memory came one that made me chuckle out loud like a crazy person. I remember coming back to watch a game my sophomore year. My friends from another high school were playing my school. They all showed up with tape on their shoes. It was a sticky shout out to me. A way to say they were sorry I was cut from the team. That was a good memory.

It was a good memory that made me jump back to another memory when I was playing the year before. It was the game I scored my first point. We were playing the team with my friends from the other high school. When I scored, not only did my team cheer for me, but so did a few of the girls from the other team. Their coach wasn't very happy... but you can't make everyone happy.

I assumed when I graduated from high school I wouldn't ever step foot back in the gym. It never occurred to me I would one day be in the gym watching my own kids play.

Although, after watching their athletic abilities this week, I will probably only watch them while they attend the camps I pay for... The girls have inherited my skills. Too bad for them they didn't catch any of Aunt Caley's talents! One of our favorite activities this week was to search the trophy cases to find Aunt Caley's name. We discovered a new trophy or plaque every day.