final slam

I’ve only seen my dad cry twice

The first time was in the Emergency Room at 1 in the morning and I guess that one just made sense to me

The second was about two hours ago and I don’t think he’s wiped the salt off his cheeks yet.

I was crying too

So was mom

But that happens about twice a day

And it was all because of soccer

Now, in the past I’ve always avoided writing about soccer for some reason

Told myself that

Being athletics’ not poetic

The only chills sports can produce are the type that come from sprinting in the cold

But two hours ago my dad cried for the second time in 17 1/2 years

And I started to reconsider

I’ve been playing since I was three

Been in love since I was three

Been wearing grass stains on my heart since I was three

Been crying after games we lost since I was three

But tonight was different

Because my dad cried too

Tonight was different because when I took off my jersey my mom didn’t ask me when I needed it washed by.

Tonight was different because I knew the next time I’d be putting on a jersey it’d be purple and have a name on the front that is 1,100 miles away

And I’m trying to do the math and I think I’m at

21 pairs of cleats, 3 rec teams, 4 club teams, 14 years, 53 goals, 145 assists, 13 coaches, 521 games, 94 t-shirts, 7 you can’ts, and 19 you betters

And one sport that’s changed my life.

And maybe I’m way off here, but I think anything that makes you cry and sweat and bleed and desire and breathe so hard you’re not sure if you’ll ever be the same

Anything 
that changes the way your heart beats,

Is allowed to be poetic.