<><><><><>Ginger Laces up Cleats<><><><><>
<><><><><>Part One<><><><><>
My parents were big people for soccer. When I was a girl, I questioned the sport. I may have enjoyed playful running, but running with a mission? Running in front of people while kicking a ball? It seemed slightly...lame.
Of course, Mom and Dad didn't agree. They met in middle school in the sport, before being separated into girl and boy teams. They wanted me in it from the second I was born, but I always resisted.
Then, I cracked. It was a winter evening, right before we went back to school after President's Day. That fateful Monday when my punishment for straight B's. Spring Soccer.
"We understand one B," Mom and Dad confronted me. "But 5? There are only five classes!"
"We've enrolled you in spring soccer." Why didn't I turn in that homework? Now, it was too late. My homework was a paper mâché mouse.
I had to lace up cleats.
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