My father, growing up in a small village loved running through the meadows of Dologozhda, Macedonia playing soccer most of the day with the town’s people. Being an excellent player, he trained hard every day by grabbing a couple of soda cans as goals and a beat up ball his father gave him to kick around. At the age of seventeen my father was called up to play in the beautiful city of Struga. With a stunning blue river running down the center of town, kids running about playing street soccer, and stores and shops till the eye can see, this was his big shot. Starting the game for Struga Football Club my father with one wrong step ended up tearing his ACL right before half time. Not being able to follow his dreams the sport struck him with the fury and passion believing I could be even better than he was one day.
October 24, 2013 6:53 am, it was the coldest, most important day of the year and I was ready for it. The Verizon jingle from my phone rang as I slowly reached over attempting to turn it off. My legs and shoulders still jittering sore from the mountain climbers and sprints, Coach Nash put the team through to prepare for that night. Waking up to the poster of Lionel Messi, the greatest soccer player of all time is like my dose of caffeine of every morning. Wearing the number ten jersey outlined in yellow, dark blue and red uniform he waves both his hands in the air pointing out his index fingers showing to the crowd and world that he is number one. In the background, slightly glared, the ball is in the net and the keeper is down on the bright neon grass disappointed and beaten while the crowd of Camp Nou waves the flags and bright colors of the city of Barcelona. His back facing away from his opponent’s goal and his head slightly tilted to the side gives a perfect image of the bliss, passion, and hard work in his smile.
My first class that day was English with Mr. Bellini. All that ran through my head down was tod...