One warm spring day, I walked into Dunham's Sporting Goods without a care in the world.
I gleamed at my dad as we passed aisle after aisle of shiny equipment. At ten years old, I was the world's greatest athlete to him, and nothing made me happier than enjoying my favorite sports with my biggest fan. Was he buying me those bright purple soccer cleats we saw on TV?! Oh, we had to be picking up a new pump for the basketballs at home. A Nike headband at the very least?
Okay, Dad had to have make a mistake here. We stopped at the softball gloves, and after a few minutes of analytical glances, he handed me what he thought was the perfect starter. It was time for a new adventure.
I was skeptical at first, but I eventually snatched the glove with confidence… and put it on the wrong hand.
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Weeks of softball practice were under my belt before I knew it.
I was no Jennie Finch, but at least I learned to put my glove on the proper hand. Most of the girls on my team had been playing for years at this point. They could throw, hit and field with ease. I, on the other hand, was lucky to catch the ball if it came anywhere near me.
On one particularly sunny day, our coach decided to start practicing fly balls with us. Player after player went through the line without breaking a sweat. I was convinced my coach would hit a bird with how high the ball was going, but it was all but routine for the rest of my team.
I'd love to tell the story of how catching my first fly ball made softball click for me. I'd love to tell the story of how the bright sun and cheering teammates phased me not. Heck, I'd even love to tell the story of how I caught the ball and didn't have to rush to my local urgent care center.
My very first fly ball hit me right in the mouth, and my pink braces stuck directly into my upper lip. Dad's favorite athlete turned into a joke on the field very quickly. At least the stitches in my mouth matched those on the ball.
Fly balls really weren't my thing, but my dad made sure I'd never miss a ball like that again.
We spent the next six years at the softball field.
In an effort to avoid as many fly balls as possible, I found my greatest love in blocking balls, gunning runners out, and managing my field as the catcher. Crushing the ball over the fence wasn't such a bad feeling either. Swing after swing, throw after throw, ball after ball, I slowly but surely left my other sports behind. I was determined to be the very best on that field, and if nothing else, I wanted to be a role model for those other young girls with braces stuck to their lips.
During my sophomore year of high school, I found myself at one of my first (and biggest) softball showcase camps.
Dozens of colleges would be lined up to see us, the much-hated Team Pennsylvania, play an age group above our own and still manage to run-rule the competition. I tried to play it cool and focus on my game, but I couldn't help but notice some of the top coaches in the country sitting right behind me at home plate. Very fitting with the rest of my story, it only took a few pitches during the first inning of my first game of the tournament for a batter to foul a ball off and break my hand.
I knew immediately something was off, but the last thing I could do was let everyone down- especially since the threat of not playing college softball was looming over my head (and coming from my dad's loud mouth).
I finished the game of catching 68 mph fastballs and headed home shortly after with a broken hand, a heavy heart, and a furious "biggest fan".
Luckily, the next showcase was right around the corner from getting my cast off. I went into this one with a vengeance.
These teams were going to pay for my injury one way or another. I ended up smashing some balls over the fence- right into the lap of Lafayette's head softball coach.
Aside from putting on that very first glove, coming to Lafayette is the best decision I have ever made.
My senior year is coming to a close, yet I feel an even greater excitement about this place than I did when I first stepped on campus.
No other place would have allowed me to pursue my academic and athletic dreams in such an enriching environment. My professors have shaped me into the future health professional I've always wanted to be, my coaches have helped me set an example for our softball program for years to come and my friends have supported me in ways I never imagined.
Thankful and blessed are understatements regarding my feelings towards my time here. I am so proud to be a Leopard, and I am so proud that this school is a 'Pard of my journey.
As for the game that has given me more bumps, bruises, and broken bones than I may have wanted, thank you.
Thank you for being so unforgiving at times. Thank you for bringing me to my lowest lows. Thank you for making me question my hopes, dreams, and passions.
You've so wonderfully molded me into the teammate, friend, daughter, sister and future surgeon I am today. I can say with confidence that I'll be taking my catcher mindset into calling out the plays of the operating room one day.
To my not-so-soft-spoken dad, thank you as well. I owe it all to you and the countless sacrifices you made just to make sure I was living out my dream. I'm not sure where the road will take me next, but wherever it goes, I know I'll always have you rooting me on along the way.
Here's to taking my Leopard roar into the next adventure.
