18th birthdays never turn out how you expect them to.
...They turn out better.
For me, this weekend, it was the little things that made this monumental birthday one I'll never forget.
-It was late night phone calls and texts wishing me a happy birthday. It was people falling asleep on the phone, but insisting they were fine just to keep talking. It was a phone call from my aunt early in the morning singing to me in spanish. It was countless birthday wishes on facebook from people I thought forgot my existence.
-It was a birthday dinner with unexpected rendevouzs and stark realizations. It was my mom genuinely caring about me, and genuinely understanding the way I felt. It was a super nice waitress who announced to the resteraunt that I was 18.
-It was my mom. It was what she wrote in her card. It was how much she wanted to make this a special day for me. It was my brother, trying just as hard, saving me a cinnamon roll, buying me roses, knowing I love smoothies and burgers. It was my dad and his excitement with sending me funny cards, and wanting to hear my reaction. It was my grandpa, who despite his hard shell, sent me a beautiful heartfelt card, with a nice check inside.
-It was the people who I least expected to care. It was one of my church leaders coming over to drop off a big bouquet of balloons and a present. It was a friend making cookies and dropping them off, as well. It was the guy at the ice cream place who gave me free ice cream. It was someone I only occasionally talked and joked with who came and gave me a Jamba Juice gift card, simply because she could. It was these things that stood out most.
-It was a friend who genuinely cared about my feelings, and cared that I needed to have a special birthday. It was a friend who picked up the pieces. It was a friend who knew exactly how to make me happy and made sure I had a night to remember. It was a friend who listened. It was this friend who made my birthday the most special.
-It was the realization of growing up, of moving on, of knowing the reality. It was knowing who genuinely cares about you, and who puts other feelings in front. It was the confirmation I needed to know that I was making the right decision, even though the decision is a hard one.
All in all, I had a birthday to remember. A great way to kick of my first year off being legal. Now, on to making it a good one.
Sunday, January 24, 2010
Wednesday, January 13, 2010
Hi, college scholarships.
Ever since I can remember, I’ve loved sports.
I remember Sunday afternoons as a small child watching Bucs games with my dad. I remember discussions at the dinner table about what a “pickle” meant in baseball and about what “offsides” meant in football. I remember analyzing my soccer games… determining what went wrong, what went well, and how I could improve my game. As I got older, I finally started gaining my own opinions about sports rather than regurgitating my dad’s. I became the girl who argued about pro and college athletes with the boys, the girl who sat and watched Sportscenter intently with the boys, the girl who could recognize a “shotgun formation” and could analyze games with the boys. At first they didn’t take me seriously. A girl who talks sports? Please. Until I started spitting facts and holding my own, proving points and proving that I was right. Then they respected me. Then I was included.
One day, as I watched a football game, I noticed Pam Oliver on the sidelines. She ran alongside the coaches during half time, she fought her way through hoards of players at the end of the game. That’s when I realized…I want to do that. I want to be the lady on the sidelines. I want to be on ESPN.
I realize my dream is a little far-fetched. What are the odds I’ll make it to a nationally syndicated sports broadcasting network? But I plan on starting small. I’ve started down the journalism path, working as an editor for the yearbook staff, learning critical interviewing and writing skills. Just as I sat by my dad as a little girl asking him simple sports terminology, I’ve learned to ask questions to pure strangers, being able to spark a conversation and get the information I need to do my job. I love to write, and I love to talk, so what better major than journalism? I’ve also come to realize that in order to get to the top of the mountain…I need to climb over some boulders. I’m perfectly content with working for a small newspaper or a small news channel if that means getting experience I need to grow in my expertise, and to prove myself. Like I had to prove myself “worthy” of talking sports with the boys, I have to prove myself in the area of sports journalism.
It’s a hard life out there for a woman in the world of sports. There aren’t many that make it big, and I’m sure the competition is fierce. It’s also very rare for a man to really respect a female sports broadcaster. A good guy friend of mine once told me, “You’re not going to get on ESPN, but please, try and prove me wrong.” If there’s anything I’ve learned from being with the boys is how to handle a challenge. To take someone talking down to you, and prove them wrong. So someday in the world of sports, I will be respected. I will be included. Someday, I will be on ESPN.
I remember Sunday afternoons as a small child watching Bucs games with my dad. I remember discussions at the dinner table about what a “pickle” meant in baseball and about what “offsides” meant in football. I remember analyzing my soccer games… determining what went wrong, what went well, and how I could improve my game. As I got older, I finally started gaining my own opinions about sports rather than regurgitating my dad’s. I became the girl who argued about pro and college athletes with the boys, the girl who sat and watched Sportscenter intently with the boys, the girl who could recognize a “shotgun formation” and could analyze games with the boys. At first they didn’t take me seriously. A girl who talks sports? Please. Until I started spitting facts and holding my own, proving points and proving that I was right. Then they respected me. Then I was included.
One day, as I watched a football game, I noticed Pam Oliver on the sidelines. She ran alongside the coaches during half time, she fought her way through hoards of players at the end of the game. That’s when I realized…I want to do that. I want to be the lady on the sidelines. I want to be on ESPN.
I realize my dream is a little far-fetched. What are the odds I’ll make it to a nationally syndicated sports broadcasting network? But I plan on starting small. I’ve started down the journalism path, working as an editor for the yearbook staff, learning critical interviewing and writing skills. Just as I sat by my dad as a little girl asking him simple sports terminology, I’ve learned to ask questions to pure strangers, being able to spark a conversation and get the information I need to do my job. I love to write, and I love to talk, so what better major than journalism? I’ve also come to realize that in order to get to the top of the mountain…I need to climb over some boulders. I’m perfectly content with working for a small newspaper or a small news channel if that means getting experience I need to grow in my expertise, and to prove myself. Like I had to prove myself “worthy” of talking sports with the boys, I have to prove myself in the area of sports journalism.
It’s a hard life out there for a woman in the world of sports. There aren’t many that make it big, and I’m sure the competition is fierce. It’s also very rare for a man to really respect a female sports broadcaster. A good guy friend of mine once told me, “You’re not going to get on ESPN, but please, try and prove me wrong.” If there’s anything I’ve learned from being with the boys is how to handle a challenge. To take someone talking down to you, and prove them wrong. So someday in the world of sports, I will be respected. I will be included. Someday, I will be on ESPN.
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