Chapter Twenty - The Power of Showing Up

CHAPTER TWENTY

The Power of Showing Up

“EVEN IF I was just the rock used to sharpen the blade, I was still there.”

I played football senior year.

And I wasn’t good.

Not being hard on myself, just being honest.

I hadn’t played since 8th grade. I didn’t fully understand the game then, and after taking two full years off, I was basically starting from scratch. So I was a first-year senior, stepping onto the field like, “Okay, so what’s a blitz again?”

And yeah, starting that late was a recipe for disaster.

But it wasn’t.

Because here’s the thing:

It was fun.

It was so fun.

The coach was one of my favorite people ever. No ego, no yelling for the sake of yelling. He saw people, not positions. He didn’t try to mold me into a perfect player. He pushed me because he knew I could take it. Because I wanted it.

I’ll never forget the third day of practice. We were running conditioning drills on the grass field. I was out of shape, COVID had just run through the world and I hadn’t moved much in months. I was struggling. Hard.

But he pushed me. Gently. Firmly. With respect.

And when it was over, I went up to him and said, “Thanks for pushing me.”

He looked me in the eye and said he respected me for fighting through it.

That moment stuck. Mutual respect. Coach to player. Human to human.

Now, I wasn’t a star.

I got better. Stronger. Faster. Leaner. Smarter.

I learned. I practiced. I improved.

But I wasn’t starting. I was JV, mostly.

Got a few varsity snaps, some garbage time, some mercy time. Still counts.

But I showed up.

Every day.

And that matters.

I remember one game early in the season.

We were down by a score, got a turnover, and drove the field to win it in the last minute.

I wasn’t on the field.

I wasn’t even close.

But the feeling on that sideline? Unreal.

I wasn’t a spectator, I was part of it.

Practice matters. Preparation matters. Presence matters.

Even if you’re not in the spotlight, your fingerprints are still on the moment.

Football gave me my first real party.

It gave me something to belong to.

I wasn’t the most popular kid, but I was on the team. That was enough.

And it made me see sports differently.

It’s not just the field. It’s the band, the cheer squad, the fans, the whole stadium.

Cheerleaders are athletes. Period. They train, they compete, they perform.

Band kids are insane, in the best way. Precision, discipline, and artistry.

I can’t play an instrument. They can. I respect that.

People used to try to recruit me for wrestling.

“Free varsity letter,” they said.

Cool. But what’s the point of a varsity letter if you didn’t earn it?

Sports are supposed to be about something real.

Connection. Commitment. Joy.

And if you’re a parent reading this, let your kid choose.

Don’t push your dreams on their shoulders.

Just let them have fun. That’s what this is supposed to be.

So yeah, football.

I wasn’t the best.

But I was there.

And sometimes, that’s everything.