Conor's Ball

“Everyone holds on to something,” said 17-year-old Conor as he looked out at his friends, family and teachers on graduation day. “I carry a soccer ball.”

This is intended to be a children's story, maybe for a 6-to-9-year-old. Unfortunately, it's loosely based on a real Irish-American boy, who is just beginning to chase his dreams. I'd love to write meaningful stories for children.

As you read it, imagine there's illustrations on every page (each paragraph represents a page). Enjoy - it's very short.

“Everyone holds on to something,” said 17-year-old Conor as he looked out at his friends, family and teachers on graduation day. “I carry a soccer ball.”

I try not to forget the night Dad gave this ball. I was five.

Mom says we left the game at halftime. It was a school night. I put on my pajamas. I brushed my teeth.

As she tucked me in, she said, “Your Dad called. We won.” I smiled and drifted off to sleep, visions of green and gold celebrations serving as my lullaby.

In the morning, Dad was gone again. But I still remember the shiny soccer ball with just a few scuff marks. Dad left a note.

Kevin scored in the 90th minute. Hold on to the ball until I get back. Love, Dad.

So I did. I took it to soccer practice the next day and showed it off.

It came to bed with me the next night, and every night after that one.

I felt braver when I took it to show-and-tell on the first day of school the next Fall.

I clutched this ball tightly before I climbed out of the minivan the day I tried out for the Strikers.

Some of you laughed when I put it in my locker on the first day of middle school.

It was in my bag the day my friends convinced me to try out for the regional team. He looked at Brian and Jared.

We tried to talk the refs into using this ball for the state final my sophomore year. We didn’t win that argument, or the game. But we did last year.

I’ve dribbled this ball and I’ve headed it.

It’s great for passing and for trapping.

But mostly I hold on to it. I carry it in my backpack, stuff it in shoe bag, find a place for it on road trips.

In September I’ll take it to college.

Someday maybe I’ll take it to big league locker room.

Right now, though, it’s just me up here holding on to my soccer ball. I’m holding on to my dreams.

Dad’s plane never made it home one week after he'd tucked me in bed with this ball.

This note, and this ball, are all I have to hold on to.