Dodgeball

"If you cry you can't play."
The challenge in his eyes was obvious. I dropped my eyes and stared at the ball in his hands.

"Alright." I said. With a quick glance, I did not miss the smile on his face. It was not meant to be inviting.

For weeks I had watched the 5th and 6th grade boys play dodgeball on the court in the mornings before school. The accuracy with which they could throw the ball and make contact with the players in the circle fascinated me. I loved dodgeball. None of the other fifth grade girls wanted to play with the guys. That should have made me leery.

Dodging the first few throws was easy. The one that caught me in the middle of the back and knocked me to the ground left me gasping for air. As I stood to my feet, I blinked back tears and stepped to join the outer circle. Every guy watched and waited for me to cry. Somehow I managed to focus on the game and not give in to my immediate discomfort.

For weeks I took the brutal hits of the ball. I waited for the guys to show me how to throw to get the speed I desired. I was willing to wait, watch, and learn to be the best at the game. The weeks that passed seemed like an eternity.

The day finally arrived when the best player approached and instructed me in how to grip and throw the ball. My first attempts sent the ball zinging over the heads of the players. I ignored the teasing my botched efforts brought me.

I finally released the ball with accuracy hitting my chosen target. Johnny hit the grown hard. In that brief moment, the game stopped and all eyes were on me. I had succeeded in throwing the ball with the speed of the other boys.

When I began to write this year, I felt like I was playing dodgeball again. Many times I've had the wind knocked out of me. I've thrown some zingers with my writing, but it's part of the process. Writing is one of the dreams I want to pursue. Fulfillment of dreams takes work.

Don't give up on your dreams if you get knocked down. It may sting a few times, but it's worth it.