My leg shakes as the one actual thought I have in my head right now sits there while I debate whether to be real with this guy. But as he stares at me, waiting, I realize this isn’t something I’m getting out of by being quiet.
“I just … I don’t really get the point.”
“Well, thankfully I have about sixteen weeks to hopefully help you find it. How about we consider something tied to you. What makes you, Gabriel Piña, great at soccer? Not what makes a person excel at it.You specifically.”
“I guess … I think a lot of it’s come from realizing all the ways I’m not made for football. At least, not in any way that a lot of the best players are. I’m shorter than most goalkeepers. I didn’t grow up getting the sort of training a lot of the greats got growing up. I make mistakes daily in practice and during games.”
My phone flashes on the table in front of me with a text from my mom wishing me a good first day. And, behind her, my wallpaper, my two boys from high school, friends and teammates, after our very last game as Martin Catholic Seagulls. The three of us with huge smiles on our faces, even after our loss.
For a second, I remember of all the lunch periods we’d spend kicking a ball around after eating. How we pushed one another and never let any of us give up. How some of the blame for why I’m great is because I had a support system like them for a few years.
“When I could come to terms with all of that and still love the game anyway is, to me, step one to being open to being great. After hundreds of balls have flown past me, after landing hard on the ground and forcing myself to get back up thousands oftimes, after broken bones, I still love this sport. I’ve had to learn how to not be afraid of a ball speeding toward me or a cleat getting close to my face because I love it more than I’m scared of any of that. I’ve thought plenty of times that I’m not good enough, I’m not fast enough, I’m not tall enough, but my love for the game has been stronger than the doubts are loud.”
“So, somewhere, at some point, a younger you was forced to consider solution versus discovery. You realize this, yes? He took notice of all the ways soccer should only be able to be a hobby to you, but, even more, he discovered a reason to recognize why those aren’t universal, where facts were only actually ever suggestions, and, certainly, not applicable to him. Because of what?”
“Because … love. Because I love playing the game.”
“Exactly. Close it out for us. What did you discover about yourself stepping onto the field?”
“That my love for football isn’t determined by how good I am? I … I’m as good as I ambecauseof the love I’ve got for it. Because I’ve found so much of myself on the pitch. I realized that to give up would be to give up part of myself, and my dreams.”
“That’s deep,” I hear someone behind me say, and I nearly start laughing because, honestly, I don’t even know where that whole explanation came from.
“And it’s exactly what I want from all of you in this class,” Professor Coolidge says, a smile on his face as he finally looks around the room and acknowledges everyone else here. “I will present one philosopher next week, and the week after you’ll meet another with a completely oppositional perspective. Neither is, in this room, universal fact, right or wrong. It’s about what you discover from interacting with both. You getting it now, Gabriel?”
I shrug as I give him an “I guess.”
“Unenthusiastic, but I’ll take it. And my final question before I stop harassing you. Do you know everything about whoyou are and all those parts of yourself? Right now, sitting in that chair?”
“Uh, sure. Yes. I know who I am.”
“So you’re saying that all the discovering that younger versions of you did accomplished everything there is to find?”
“I … yeah. Sure? I don’t think I’ve got anything else to figure out.”
Professor Coolidge turns around, grabs a marker, and, underneath his question of the day, in even bigger letters, writesDISCOVERY.
“Between now and next class, I want you to put some thought into that question. Everyone here, actually, and where they stand. Because this class is about thinking and discovery, and that might also include some inward discovery. Recognizing that you, Gabriel, as an … eighteen-year-old?”
“Yeah. Turned eighteen in May.”
“As an eighteen-year-old person, living with maybe the largest amount of independence you’ve ever had in your entire life so far, could still discover something new about yourself. And I want you to make room for that. Be present and include your heart as you consider this. I can tell that Gabriel here has plenty of that. I hope my next victim has something of a comparable amount of heart. Logic’s great, and it’s what I do for a living, but heart is rare. So listen to it. In those times when your worldview gets vague, heart first. Even if it makes all those certainties you know of yourself feel less solid. And especially if it makes you realize maybe the answer to ‘Do you know everything about who you are right now?’ isn’t necessarily yes.”
One thing I do know? I’m donediscoveringtoday.
This class should be called Introduction to Hypotheticals That Don’t Matter.
I know who I am. I know that I’ve had the same dream of playing football professionally since I was four. That the quickest way to my heart is chicken fajita nachos. That I could watchAn Extremely Goofy Movieevery day and never get tired of it. That I have a weakness for girls who know how to dance and have a sassy side. That I can’t go a day without playing theNew York Timessudoku on the hard level. My life has always sort of felt like simple math equations. And I don’t think there’s anything wrong with that. The amount of time we have to spendfiguring ourselves outdoesn’t make us any more or less human.
And, as sweat drips down my skin, the South Texas sun beating down on me, the muscles of my legs and arms sore and worn, Ido knowthat, as Professor Coolidge said, I was made to play soc—football.
If his class has immediately become my least favorite part about my Mondays, Wednesdays, and Fridays,thisis the opposite of that. My first week of classes finished, and, as I expected, I did not come out of it not hating Philosophy. But I will give Coolidge one thing: he was right about this. Over everything else, while on a pitch, it’s hard to deny that I’m not made to play football.
Two hours since the start of practice and my kit might be covered in sweat, my body in need of an ice bath, but I’m still putting on a face that says I’m as ready as when I stepped onto the pitch. Taking a quick few minutes on the sideline, I squeeze a bottle close to my open mouth, letting water pour in. Ahmed pats my back, telling me, “Doing good, keeper,” and Pérez on my other side says, “Keep it up, papi.”
I hand off the bottle and give them both fist bumps before heading back out to the pitch. When I get back to my post, I give myself a moment to stretch my legs, keeping my body prepared and cleats loose as my eyes laser-focus on Barrera in front of me.He’s been the only one to get a goal on me today. And he did it twice. This whole half hour of me blocking goal attempts, one after the other, is fully his and Coach’s way of seeing how far they can push me before I break. Is all, “If you’re hoping to get that number one spot on anyone’s list, you’re going to have to do better than that, little bro.”
I’m not hoping. Iwillbe in that number one spot. So, sorry, my guy. I like you and all, but those two balls you got past me were two too many. “You aren’t getting past me three times in one day, Capitán. Lo prometo.”
