Sanctum
I first had a soccer ball on the end of my foot at the age of five. After the United States’ hosting of the 1994 World Cup, the sport enjoyed a large burst in popularity and alike countless children, my parents placed me on a youth team. What began as an obligation transformed into a sanctuary. Every time I stepped on that green rectangle, the world outside its white lines vanished and I felt safe. My mother who could never afford to send me to play in club leagues, my stepfather who daily called me worthless, my father who only showed every other weekend, vanished. The field and ball endured throughout. With the ball at my feet, the way, the truth, and the light appeared.
One month into my junior season, my grandmother’s cancer returned which meant the demise of my weekly pilgrimages. My mother divorced the summer before my freshman year, so my ability to take part in soccer hinged on my grandmother caring for my three younger siblings after school. Because my mother worked multiple jobs to support us, when my grandmother could no longer mind the children, I quit what I loved to assume her role.
Losing my haven soured me against the sport. I watched as the girls I played with earned scholarships playing soccer, my succumbed to cancer, and
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I found “Beer Family” and helped to build FC Dallas’ largest supporter’s group, the Dallas Beer Guardians. I soon found the ability to fully improve my life. My grades sharply improved. I went from the academic suspension list to a member of the Dean’s List. Every weekend at my temple, my fellow congregants and I yelled, cheered, and sang until our voices were raw. A friend working on her dissertation on the religious themes in soccer supporter culture asked me what “Beer Family” means. After taking time to think over it, I explained, “they are the family that takes you for what you are and says, ‘cheers, I love you