Keeper

Caroline loves sports.
I think she'd play everything if we let her. She's been playing fast pitch softball since she was five, and the trophies and medals are beginning to pile up, adorning the top of her dresser in her room and hanging from the wrought iron foot board on her bed. Last year she played soccer for the first time, and she's hooked. Probably doesn't hurt that she was on a really good team who won the in-house championship and went on to claim the district tournament title, all with our little rookie at goal keeper. Here she is (in the yellow keeper shirt, just to the left of #9) chucking the ball into the midfield after fighting tooth and nail to keep it out of the goal. Not a bad arm.


My parents just happened to be in town to go with us to the whole tournament, having scheduled the visit months before. Wonderful grandparents that they are, they were proud spectators at every game, whooping and hollering with the rest of us as the Central Pasco Comets crushed the competition and took home the first place medal. Of course, none of this has squelched her passion for softball.

When Ellis started playing basketball last fall, Caroline happily accompanied the rest of us to watch his games, and she practically had to sit on her hands, she was so energized by the atmosphere of competition (even though, in that league, they "didn't keep score"). She began trying to formulate a way she could play basketball, too, until Tony and I helped her return to reality and a world where there really are just so many days in a week.

She had an extra-long softball season this spring. Her team, again, finished first in their division, won the in-house tournament, and went on to the district tournament. After our first loss, Caroline pitched the next entire game, keeping us alive until one of our star pitchers could, according to tournament rules, return to the circle (that's softball-speak for "mound", for all you parents of boys out there). I was so proud of her that day. It was the first time she had pitched an entire game, and she was, as they say, clutch. The Land O' Lakes Chaos returned from the losers' bracket to win the tournament. Again, great rejoicing in the Byrd family. Again, a medal. Again, fuel for the fire of competition that burns like a pilot light somewhere deep inside my firstborn. Again, a photo op. She may be a gritty athlete, but she still knows to strike a cute pose for the trophy shot . . .



So when it came time to decide what kind of camp she wanted to attend this summer, it wasn't a tough choice. Something to do with sports was pretty much a given, and soccer seemed natural as a way to gear up for the next season. So my girl fought the July Florida heat and humidity every day this past week, honing those skills and having a great time.

She jammed her finger the first day, and despite the bruising and swelling, she was undaunted. Nothing a little first aid tape won't fix. How did it happen? Well, my sweet, smart, beautiful, determined, aggressive, competitive ten-year-old, playing her favorite position, rejected about nine or ten missiles to the garbage can (they were playing what they call "Old School" soccer) before the next one crushed her finger against the barrel. The shot was counted as a goal and the other team declared the winner, although Caroline still claims the ball never touched the can . . . just her finger. Doesn't count, she says.

Never back down. Never let up. Never just give it to 'em. That's my girl. She's, well . . .

. . . a keeper.