Living the dream… still
I thought of this as a rebuttable to what has been said, and really, I can turn it into a lesson for all those who read if there is any. So, my name is Uzomah Ugwu, and some people may know me only as Uzo. They never cared to say my full name or realized I went by it because they could not say what I wanted to be called by. Uzo is my slave name in the south. Please do not refer to me as that. My friends call me Uzomah. I hope we can be friends to whoever is reading this. Now that is out of the way.
This is a story about dreams and how anyone can shift to another dream and still be doing beyond good. I set goals, always have, and always will. So when it was realized I would not be swimming year-round, my dreams of being in the Olympics were crushed. And yes, at five, I dreamed of getting more gold medals than the ones I won at championships each year and on a greater scale.
Soccer was there for me in its own way, and after not making the team twice for soccer, I set another goal. I would get at least one offer from a school for soccer. Hopefully, Georgetown, I thought, so I could pray and play if I were to go to college and play soccer. I also wanted to start as a freshman and make varsity but help lead the team to states or something. Also, too. play with all the older girls I saw playing ahead of me on our travel team. I made varsity and was starting, but there was one thing missing. The girl I wanted to play with who would have been a senior when I was a freshman. She chose to sit out her senior year because she already committed to a college. My dream shifted. I said to myself I want to do that, and later on in this essay, you will know I did just that. Another legend I played with asked me to go to camp with her at the University of Richmond; she asked me because we played so well together. She made my through ball look like a masterpiece class. Her scissor kick was soccer ballet. I would pass it to her and watch it like a movie. I would just sit there in the middle of the field like it was a field of dreams. But then I thought, why are we going when they come to you when you are good? I went anyway because we were teammates, and you support one another. I did the unthinkable. I showed off; I scored left foot upper ninety from twenty yards out on the goalkeeper from Scotland, supposedly the best in CAA men’s soccer. I just wanted to see him jump, and he leaped like a frog. I scored like Beckham. The coach instantly went to me and asked me where I was playing the next year and asked me about playing there. A Coach named Tony, who I later guest played for on his travel team, told him I was just fourteen, but he did not believe it. Tony looked out for me throughout high school even though he was on another team, but he is Italian. I wouldn’t have it any other way.
So the years were not what I thought, no championships some goals and assists but no wins the real ones. I mean I saw my name in the paper for a goal here and there but nothing tangible. And when it’s real, everyone wins and plays a part. Swimming, it was all me, even with relays. But that is how I found the beauty in soccer: teamwork. My junior year came, and even though I came off the bench halfway through the season. I was benched for political reasons. I was put in when I was needed, I was the sixth man. I did alright. I had a hat trick, two goals, a goal here, a goal there, and a whole bunch of assists, I still was not good or as good as I could be. But then it happened the dream shifted a ref told me they had been watching me after the championship game I had a goal. I said what who are you random. My brother came to my room one day after getting the mail. I felt his weight on my shoulders. He gave me the letter. It was Virginia Tech women’s soccer. He said I was going to mess it up. I thought, how can I mess up something I never wanted? I wanted Georgetown not to relive high school in college, I thought. He knew I didn’t want it so I opened up the letter. I saw the coach’s name it was Nigerian. I smiled but never replied back to the letter. In my senior year, I was approached by a coach in West Virginia at College Day at high school, another college I had no intention of going to. The only reason I went was because there was a reggae concert. My mom went, and the food sucked, but it was a pretty campus, and he told my mom they were a small school, so there would not be funds like a giant school for sports. But they had the money for school. If I had the grades, I wanted the conversation to be over, not because of that; I just wanted to show my mom this could be my life or a version of it. I never returned to that school. Again, I did not want to relive high school, but I told some people they offered me a scholarship, which they did, but not for soccer, for they did not have that. But no one listened to me or accepted me for who I was and thought I meant soccer. I was tired of them and how they kept asking like it was their business. I didn’t understand why so many people who were not my friends cared. I didn’t know what I wanted to do, but it was not to play soccer. I never told anyone about Virginia Tech except my brother. I never told anyone about the University of Richmond. I never replied, but when I was 25, I didn’t go to the clearing house to be cleared to practice. I only went to soccer because the diving and swim team already had tryouts or something. The same coach that asked me where I was going was still there. I never even told my mom or my dad about the University of Richmond Or Virginia Tech.
The dream of being recruited by my junior year and sitting down my senior year had happened, kind of. It really happened when I was a freshman at a soccer camp. But it was time for a new dream; it never really was mine but a goal, another goal I scored in my dreams, but who knows? I am living the dream now. Don’t be afraid to dream another dream; just stick to it. End of story. That is the lesson. Keep something to yourself and someone else you can trust, like if you have a brother or sister.
All the schools I mentioned are good schools, scholarly and sports-wise. Don’t forget the lesson. Please don’t believe the hype, and if you do listen to Public Enemy and know you can’t truss it.
Also, RIP Guru, this is a song with Angie Stone produced by DJ Scratch. It is for people who call me Uzo. Please keep your worries to yourself. Here is the song.
Also, if you are dealing with mental illness or illness, do not play through it. Stop and get help. The court, the pool, and the field will always be there until you get yourself together, and then you can see what is happening; that last part is from Beastie Boys with Q-tip’s song from the LP ILL Communications. Well, a paraphrase of that song’s lyrics.I used to listen to the Beastie Boys before each game, Tribe, and so much more. RIP Phife Dawg and MCA.
This is for Shane and Tony.
