to be continued

From a young age, agriculture has always been a definite element in my life. I spent summers on my grandparent’s farm; pounding nails into scrap wood in the shop while my uncles worked on machinery, riding in the back of a combine, scampering up the side of silos when I thought no one was looking and I was feeling particularly brave, and basically just getting in everyone’s way, mostly because I wanted to learn about everything. As I got older, I tagged along on fair week, and to tractor pulls and become involved in organizations such as the FFA and 4-H. Attending and participating in events such as banquets, conventions, supervised agricultural experiences, leadership contests, and regular meetings has even more permanently shaped my views of the world and instilled in me a desire to spread agriculture awareness through the medium of literature.

    One of my more defining personality traits has always been my love of knowledge. I love to learn, have a drive for it, even. This was quickly paired with a love of reading. I’m not particularly picky, either. If it is written down, I wanted to read it. Thus began my love affair with books. I would spend hours alone reading, and books were practically all I would ask for on holidays. Eternally, I have possessed a editor’s (or novelist’s) tendencies- content to lock myself away with pen and paper and tea. I promptly decided that working in book editing and publishing is the best way for me to follow my passion of literature. I want to help people turn their stories into novels, and I want to tell my own stories.

Reflections; Coaching Youth Soccer.

Reflections; Coaching Youth Soccer.

    I have worked extensively in my community’s local youth recreational soccer league. Coaching and working with the kids has been so rewarding, and every season I just enjoy it more. I love being able to take something I’m passionate about (coaching and Soccer) and combine them to give back to the program and the community. This program is so close to my heart because it is the very same that gave me my start and instilled my love and passion for the sport of soccer. I have so many amazing memories from my childhood, and the league is a great tool in passing on things like social skills and sportsmanship, as well as a great time for everyone involved.

Something that has been weighing on me through this final season is the fact that it’s conceivably my last. In August, I’ll be two and a half hours away and won’t be back for either spring or fall season. I love working with the kids, and even though I get new players every year, this time it’s different. As cheesy as it sounds, I feel like I’m making a difference- at least for those eight 2nd and 3rd graders. Every time I can make a shyer player feel more confident and encourage them, I hope I make a lasting impression. Everyone needs encouragement.  When you see eight little triumphant faces gleaming up at you after a won game or a scored goal, suddenly every early morning, the next day’s hoarse voice from cheering and instructing, the collection of bruises from accidents while leading practice, and all those grass stains are undeniably worth it. My saturdays are well spent, because I’ve spent them with a troupe of seven and eight year olds who have made me a better person. You see the world again through their eyes, and it’s refreshing. And I feel undeniably blessed in having the opportunity to experience having them in my life, despite the brief window of time.  

9 am

Nine AM is punishment enough.

I looked up today in second hour,

To see you,

You staring intently back at me.

And then came the accompanying tightness in my chest, like I can’t breath.

I don’t need this anymore, you know.

I’ve already said my goodbyes, and made my peace.

Nine AM is punishment enough,

Without a ration of equations I don’t understand,

And you, always, looking back at me.

The girl in front beams like a hyena,

The radiation of her ego burning into my self-esteem.

Can’t I just call it quits? Can’t I rip math off my shaking body,

Like a Band-Aid sticking to a bright red scrape or sore

I just want to write books or teach English, not find slopes or limits,

But math is force-feeding with a cold spoonful of food I can’t swallow.

I wish I had told my guidance counselor I didn’t care about credits,

When it called for all of this precise, calculated pain.

I should have told the girl sitting up front to shut her damn mouth,

But I took the paper she gave out, folded it to a crisp,

And walked back to my seat, head high in the air.