In today’s world, we are all entirely too wrapped up in our busy schedules to kick back and remember what truly matters. We focus too much on having the latest item. We want the newest ipods and cell phones, the biggest houses, and the nicest cars. We are so greatly influenced by these celebrities that everyone wants to be just like, that tell us expensive is better. It’s hard to go anywhere these days without seeing ads that tell us if we buy this product we will be better off. But, don’t you remember the trusted saying “money can’t buy happiness”? If money really can’t buy happiness, then what does make a person happy? What makes something valuable to us?
Finally, it’s Saturday. I’m at home relaxing, since this is pretty much the only chance I get. This is the one day of the week I have off from field hockey, but yet there I am, stick in hand. Even though I am just sitting on the couch watching TV, I constantly find myself picking up my stick. I feel weird not having it in my hand, because I am so accustomed to it being there.
I run my fingers down the flat side of my stick, and I can feel all the chips in the paint that have developed over time. Each and every divot in the otherwise smooth edges of my stick holds a memory. They remind me of the first goal I made with this stick. They remind me of all the free hits I’ve taken in games, both the ones that soared down the field, past the opponent’s wall, and the ones that embarrassingly didn’t make it as far as I would have hoped. Some people may argue that the nicest sticks are the perfectly smooth ones with no dents, chips, or scratches, but I disagree. I believe that the marks in mine show wisdom, in a way, and they remind me how far I have come, and how much I will continue to improve as a defender.
In my eyes, my stick is beautiful. It has a long black grip that fits my hands perfectly. It is blue, with the letters STX printed in large white letters. It has a green toe that has become slightly faded and scratched with age. And, it has a ring of white tape around the top from where the grip has begun to give out on me. It is an all-composite stick made of 100% fiberglass, which as field hockey sticks go is very nice. I bought it for about $60.00, which is moderately priced for a stick, but to me, field hockey is something I could never be asked to put a price on. There is no amount of money in the world that would make me stop playing. This year I am honored to play starting defense, and I have the perfect stick for a hard-working defender like myself.
My feet turn numb as I step into the chilling Maine water for what will most likely be the last time this year. The strong, ice cold waves crash against my body, just about knocking me over, but I continue to venture forward. I am accompanied by my cousin Shannon, and together we go out further in the Atlantic than we would ever dare to go alone. It’s starting to get dark, and to be completely honest, we don’t really have a desire to be in the water at all. But, it is our last night here in Maine, and we know if we don’t go in now we will regret it until a year from now when we get to come back.
Then we see our little cousins running down the beach, and they yell to us that it’s time to come in. Shannon and I walk up the beach, hurting our feet on the rocks scattered throughout the sand. Our teeth are chattering as we’re standing outside our beachside house drying off. Then, we go inside. The house is far too small for the thirteen people we have staying there, and I always wonder how we manage. But, while we’re there, we hardly notice how cramped it really is. Shannon and I take turns using the shower that, even if you’re first, never seems to have enough hot water. Then, we go to the closet-sized room that we share, and get ready. Everyone is wearing the nicest clothes they brought. Then, all thirteen of us load up into cars, and head off to our annual lobster dinner at Mainiax. We all order and eat our dinner over pleasant conversation, and laugh as we watch my now eleven year old cousin Alison gobble up an entire lobster of her own. We divide up the bill, and once again load up the cars.
Next comes my favorite part of the entire week. We go home and put on our warm, cozy pajamas and head outside. We stand on the edge of our property, looking out onto the ocean. We listen to the waves crash as we gather sticks, marshmallows, Hershey bars, and graham crackers. All the kids then stand around toasting marshmallows. I cover my watering eyes to shield them from the smoke, as I am trying to attempt the difficult task of getting mine perfectly golden brown. We then walk over to my aunt, who helps us make them into s’mores. We make them for ourselves first, and then start another round of toasting marshmallows for the grown-ups, since they’re too lazy to do it themselves. Once everyone is full of s’mores, we pull out the sparklers. Each kid gets their own box, and we light them and wave them around. You would think that as a soon-to-be senior, sophomore, and freshman in high school, my cousins Brittany and Shannon and I would be too old to play with sparklers. It’s a tradition in our family, though, and we never get tired of it. Behaving just like our seven and eight year old cousins, we foolishly swing our sparkler from side to side, making shapes and writing our names in the black sky. And, frankly, I am always slightly disappointed when I realize that my box of sparklers is empty. But, by this time it is late, and we all retire to our rooms to get some sleep. After all, we have a long drive the next day.
Both my field hockey stick and my last night in Maine with my family mean the world to me. Just looking at my stick brings back that feeling of adrenaline when I’m standing on the field with my stick pressed against the ground as the offender approaches me. Just looking at my stick reminds me of all the good times I’ve shared with my team mates at after school practices, games, weight training sessions, Sunday morning practices, double sessions, team dinners, and team bonding nights. It reminds me that we aren’t just a team, we are a family, and there is no greater feeling than realizing you have a whole group of people you know you can count on.
However, even though my team mates are like my second family, there is nothing that could replace my time spent with my actual family. When I am in Maine with them, curled around the fire, it is time that I will never forget. I have a feeling of security when I’m there, and a part of me never wants to leave. I am sad to say that my grandparents on my mom’s side are no longer with us, and therefore it is sometimes difficult to get that side of the family together. We all have busy schedules, and without having my grandparents’ house to go to at Christmas and Thanksgiving, it is often hard to arrange family get-togethers, especially because we are separated throughout different parts of Massachusetts and New Hampshire. The week in Maine, though, is always a sure thing. It’s the one week I can count on where I know I get to spend time with the people I love so much, but don’t get to see as much as I’d like to.
I value both of these things pretty much equally. I couldn’t imagine my life without either one. I suppose the things that I value most are the things that allow me to spend time with the people I care about. I love playing field hockey. It is one of my favorite things to do. But, I think for me, a huge part of why I love being on the team so much is being able to hang out with my friends, while also doing something I enjoy. When the sun’s beating down, there’s nowhere I’d rather be than out on the field hockey field, hitting a ball around and mastering those defensive clears I work so hard on in practice. Other times, though, I’d give anything to be able to kick back, relax, and spend time with my family.