The Meaning of Sports to Me

Growing up in the beautiful town of Abilene, Texas in the center of Texas was great. The city is wonderful, the people are always nice, and there is always something to do. I couldn't have asked for a better place to grow up in. I do, however, wish I could say the same for my childhood.

As a youngster, for the first few years of my life, I had a great life. My mother and father raised me in a wonderful Christian household. I was brought to church with them every week, never missing a day. My parents were both raised in the church so naturally they were going to do the same with me. Even at the age of three I remember playing in the nursery with other children. I remember going to Vacation Bible School and learning about stories in the Bible (mainly David and Goliath) even as a young child.

When I was a five year old, my mother got a new job that demanded she work every Sunday. As a result, my father and I would stay home on Sundays, rather than going to services as we used to. Over the next few years, my mother and father grew distant from each other, and ended up separating when i was eight years old.

I asked my mother if her and my father would be alright, and she always told me yes. She wanted to hide the fact that they were going to eventually be divorced. I wasn't old enough to deal with a divorce so she tried to hide it for two more years. My dad came around the house between the ages of 8-10 just so that they didn't have to tell me they were divorced. When my father was here they never talked and if they did they were arguing.

There was something good that came out of this, though. Between the ages of 8-10 I spent a lot of time in my room. I wasn't fortunate enough to have a television, but I did figure out how to use my radio. I turned the music up loud enough so that I wouldn't have to hear my parents argue. It was one day, though, that I was switching through the channels and I heard a different voice. I heard "it's three balls and one strike". Three balls? One strike? Sure, I remember playing with balls in my backyard as a kid. My dad and I use to play catch with balls, sometimes even a baseball as I got earlier. But that's all. So what were balls and strikes? What did they signify?

Every day, I'd listen to the Rangers on the radio during baseball season. I came to understand what a strikeout was, what a home run was, and what everything else meant. I'd even hear my father discussing the team with his friends, and Nolan Ryan became my favorite player on the team (he was my father's favorite too).

It became a ritual. My dad would come over, I didn't want to hear my parents arguing, so I'd stay in my room with the radio loud, listening to the Rangers. My mom eventually bought me a hat, and I'd wear it all over the place. The joy I'd feel when the team won a game!

The Texas Rangers were truly my escape during my childhood. They'd take me away from all of my pains, and give me an outlet that made me happy. To this day, I love the team and experience the same joy with each win that I did back then.