July 22, 2011

This moment needs a dozen pictures or more

July 22, 2011/ Elizabeth Foss

When you are the youngest brother of five boys, you grow accustomed to hand-me-down cleats and previously worn jerseys. You retrieve banged up baseball bats from the garage and happily play with tennis balls that already have had the fuzz beat off them. But one day, you face a seemingly insurmountable challenge. You want to play golf.

You desperately want to play golf.

You are obsessed with golf. You talk about golf every day. All day long. There is a full set of junior clubs sitting right there in the garage, next to all the other athletic equipment you've always had right when you wanted it. But you have a problem. A big, overwhelming problem. Your big brothers are lefthanded. And you are not.

You eye your father's right-handed clubs. He's 6'4". Chances are very good that, one day, you will be very tall, too. Right now, though, those clubs are too big. And right now you want to play golf.

You hatch money-making schemes: lawn mowing, dog walking, lemonade stands. This is a maddeningly slow process. You begin to worry that the summer is slipping away and you will never have the right clubs to play golf.

And then one afternoon, you are sitting in the restaurant at your grandpa's club, just eating your french fries and gazing out longingly at the greens beyond the big picture window.

And a strange man approaches.

Are you Nicholas? {You nod, tentatively, and wonder why this strange man is standing so close to you and why he's dragged golf clubs into the restaurant.}

I'm Jack. I'm the golf pro here. {Um, nice to meet you?}

Do you like these clubs? {You nod again.}

Would you want to keep them? {Who IS this dude and is he crazy? Keep them! You let yourself look at them a little harder. Whoa, those are amazing clubs!}

Your grandpa says you can have them. {This is some sort of dream. Some sort of really, really good dream. Shake yourself a little. Those are your clubs!}

And that golf course just beyond the panes of glass? That's where you'll spend the week learning to play golf.

Every little boy should have that once-in-a-lifetime perfect day that comes of a grandpa hearing his heart's desire, dreaming his dream with him, and making his fondest wish come true.

June 17, 2011

{this moment}

June 17, 2011/ Elizabeth Foss

June 13, 2011

Patrick Reflects on Soccer So Far

June 13, 2011/ Elizabeth Foss

About a week ago, my mom was asked by one of her readers if I would write guest post on her blog about how to achieve the success that I have in soccer. My first thought was, “why me?” Then I thought about the year I’ve had and I realized that I’ve become a role model to young players. That’s a very cool, very scary feeling. So here it is: the keys to my success in soccer so far.

I’ve played soccer since I could walk, kicked anything and everything I came across that resembles a ball and I’ve watched countless games. I don’t remember choosing soccer, but rather it seems to have always been part of me. To this day, about twice a year, my dad asks me flat out, “Do you want to play soccer anymore?” My response has always been "yes" and I can’t see myself not playing any time soon. That brings me to my first key to success: I love to play.

When I started my soccer career at age 4, playing for the under-6 “Blue Devils,” I couldn’t wait for Saturdays because it was another chance to “make the other team cry.” Yes you read that right, I loved to make other kids cry. Today as I sit here I have (almost) the same thoughts going through my head. Only a few more days until I get the chance to win. The phrase that comes out of the mouth of youth sports coaches that annoys me most is, “It’s not about winning.” For me, its a little bit about winning; winning on the soccer field, winning in basement hockey, winning in backyard soccer, and even this past year, winning in the classroom. Now I realize that is not the perfect attitude for youth sports and I probably shouldn’t have that mentality; but I do and that is the second key to my success: I’m a competitor.

The third key is something that has always been totally out of my control. I was born with a tremendous amount of God-given talent. Raw talent can take you a long way; I’ve seen it. However, you will most definitely hit a brick wall if you rely on talent alone. In my very first years of travel soccer, I played with a kid who had even more talent than I did (although I would have never admitted it). We were the ultimate duo-- we won every tournament there is the win in the Washington, D.C. area. It wasn’t so much the winning though; it was how we were winning- nobody could play with our team and we won almost every game by 5 goals or more. That was from U-9 to about U-12. Right now he is a high-school dropout and doesn’t play soccer anymore. So what was the difference between the two of us? I had a huge support system behind me. He didn’t. That may be the most important part of my success. I have parents, siblings, coaches, friends, and one special priest who have pushed me to my limits and told me that if I worked hard I could achieve my dreams. This was the most important part of my success. Without people who have your back you have no chance at being successful.

My dream has always been to play in a World Cup and I had a chance to do that this year. I left my family and moved to Bradenton, Florida to train with the under-17 National Team all year in preparation for the U-17 World Cup in Mexico this summer. Last week, they cut the preliminary roster of 28 players down to the 21, who will represent the United States in Mexico in a few weeks. That’s where I was let go. I trained hard all year and in the end, I was told I wasn’t good enough. Bummer. I sat in Bradenton and thought about what to do. I didn’t sit there very long. Reason one: I love to play. Reason two: I am a competitor.

May 27, 2011

These Moments: Homecoming

May 27, 2011/ Elizabeth Foss

Not quite playing along with Amanda this week. (By the way, both Amanda and Ginny have life's most extraordinary moments to share.)

I have several photos on my camera begging to be shared in this space right now, so we're going for the multiple moments of coming home and finding out what has been --err-- unwinding in one's absence.

I cried on the way to the airport. All those trips back and forth--the sendoff, the awesome visit, the too-short Thanksgiving and Christmas breaks, the sister trip, the Nicky trip, Spain, Brazil, Holland,--all of it played as a montage in my mind. And I was just so glad that this ticket home was a one-way ticket. At least for now.

Sometime in the middle of February or so, I sent Paddy a picture text when we were at Rita's Italian Ice. He'd been telling me about Rita's for years, having had the experience in distant towns. We have one locally now and I wanted to tell him how heartily I agreed with his assessment that it is awesome. The text made him sad. I was instantly sorry I had shared where we were and what we were doing without him. So, I promised we'd go the minute he came home. We went to Rita's directly from the airport.

Pick Up Happiness.

Pretty sure I just did.

At home, Patrick sized up the swift that has taken up nearly permanent residence on the kitchen table. He wanted a demo.

After Gracie got home, we settled into our customary knitting time. Patrick wandered in and didn't know quite what to do with himself. So he did what came naturally--the habit that has a long and storied history. He opened the yarn cabinet and took out a "ball." And he juggled it. With his feet. Declared it not round enough.

{bonus: You can see the laundry that came home with him. We washed quickly because the whole house was overcome with the stink.}