When I was in sixth grade my mother really wanted me to join the ski team. She thought it would help me be a better skier, so she signed me up. Weeks later, I am on top of a ski hill waiting for my name to be called. I wait for what seems like forever…Jenny, Sara but not Erin. This is girls’ skiers and I know it is my age group. Freezing at the top of the hill. Puzzled and not knowing what else to do, I find the nearest adult in charge. I ask the women “why isn’t name being called’? The women looks for my name on the list and I am nowhere on the list. I thank her but now I am feeling a more confused than before. “How can I not be on that list”?
“I’m not on the list” I say “are you sure you signed me up”? “Yes dear of course” My mom says. Then she goes up to the director of the race, asking all the same questions I just did. My mom returns with a halfhearted smile on her face. We find out that the couches of the team put me in the boys’ bracket. Feeling slightly better that I am signed up, but now a little embarrassed.
Although I am a little intimidated by them, I don’t mind too much because most of my friends on the team are the boys. Throughout the season I got a lot of questions on why I was skiing with the boys and it might have looked odd seeing me with the guys. I have learned to not let this bother me because this is my name and I am proud to have it.