The Tryout

“Mom, we got to go now! Practice starts in ten minutes!” It’s Tuesday afternoon and one of those long summer days when all everybody want to do is stay in the air conditioning. Everybody, that is, except Sam.
The first thing you need to know about my son, Sam, is that he loves to play soccer. He has played the sport ever since I put him into one of those “toddler Samba” camps. He absolutely loves every single moment of it too. Sam and I moved to America from Belize to have a new life. Sam was born with ADHD (Attention Deficit Hyperactivity Disorder). That makes it hard for him to focus in school and even sometimes in soccer. He is very creative; his room is filled with various creations of his. Like paintings as colorful as a pack of crayons and unique model cars. The only thing I am trying to help him improve is his grades. He has never done well in school and I mostly blame it on his disorder, but I know he can do better. He has made tons of new friends. I love seeing him so happy in America.
After moving to Florida, Sam will become a new student at Orange Grove high school. After learning they had a soccer team, he obviously wanted to be on the team. That is why we are headed to the soccer field on this summer day.
“Thanks for the ride, mom. I will call you when I am done practicing.” Sam says as he slams the door to our used Fiat.
Later, Sam ends up getting a ride home from one of his new friends. When he comes in the door he is in tears. I can’t remember the last time he cried; he always been a tough kid.
He runs right to his room, without saying a word to me.
“Sam!” I chase after him. I slowly open the door to his room and see him crying on his bed. After finally calming his tears down, he tells me what had happened.
Sam sighs and begins. “After practice, everyone had to turn in their physical forms from the doctor in order to start tryouts tomorrow. I handed mine to the coach and he glanced over it. Then, seeing I had ADHD, he quickly handed the paper back to me. He said kids with disorders can’t tryout because the district has such strict sport rules.” He starts balling again. Sitting on the bed, holding him, I feel so bad for him.
“Awe buddy, I am going to call up the coach right now. Don’t worry about it; I will make sure you can tryout.” Being the mother that I am I told Sam that. Unsure if I would be able to keep my promise, I still pulled my cell phone out of my pocket and searched through the contacts to find Coach Chris.
“Hello?
“Hi, this is Sam Ronaldo’s mom. I was calling to talk to you about my son’s restriction to trying out. His condition is very minor and doesn’t affect his actions much at all. He is working on getting his grades up. Also, you can talk to Sam’s previous soccer coaches, he is an outstanding player! Please, Sir, just give him a chance.” I realized how I kept going on, without letting him talk.
“Ma’am, you must understand that having kids with disorders on the team is against the Florida’s strong policy for high school sports. Your son can most definitely play soccer still. There are city run recreational teams and neighborhood pick-up games.”
That phone call ends with me in tears. How was I supposed to help my son now? These next three days are absolutely miserable for both of us. Sam is moping around the house and I am mad at myself for not fulfilling my promise that I made to him.
On Sam’s first day of school he comes home looking as sad as a bird without worms. He explains how all the soccer boys were teasing him about not being able to tryout. They would twitch, doing a poor job of simulating having ADHD. At that point, I almost wished we still lived in the beautiful Belize, our home. Every single person here was not as kind and willing to help out here. I missed how in Belize, life wasn’t as competitive.
The next morning, a miracle happened.
Sam is sitting in the kitchen, eating breakfast when I walk in the house with the day’s mail. I leave through the envelopes, looking for any letters from family and friends back in Belize. The blue and yellow writing on one envelope catches my eye. It is a letter from Sam’s school. Thinking it is just some stupid way of apologizing for Sam’s inconvenience, I set it aside hastily. But Sam is obviously not thinking the same thing I am. He grabs it up and tears it open. Reading it out loud, his voice changes to an excited scream.
“I can tryout!” He exclaims. “They made an exception for me!” We both begin to jump in the air with uncontrollable happiness.