My First High Five

Patrick Mcgraw — My First High Five

Keep the love in the room going for our next storyteller, Patrick. Patrick McGraw. Patrick, where are you? There he is. He’s coming on up. He’s coming on up. Don’t stop till he gets here. He can take as long as he wants. Typical one for an effeminate kid growing up in the 70s and 80s. Short story, I grew to hate them.

And being a painfully shy kid didn’t make things easier. The first time I was called a faggot was in fifth grade. It was because of how I walk and talk, so gender policing at its finest. When I went to junior high, I almost instantly stopped eating in the cafeteria because it was just easier for me to eat alone by my locker than navigate so many people. But my locker in seventh grade was just down the hall from the gym. And the 10th grade boys, their gym class ended during my lunch period.

They had to wait in this long hallway of the locker room behind the door until the bell rang. But one day, a few of them crossed the threshold. They grabbed a fire extinguisher and started spraying me with it. calling me a faggot. To me, these were the people who played sports, so why would I want to play sports with them? So I quit tennis, I stopped golfing. Football was a non-starter.

Later, when I came out, sports would creep back into my life. Running in my 20s, hiking in my 30s, but these were things I could do on my own. Team sports, they didn’t reenter my horizon until I moved to Portland in my 40s. The cafe I used to go to to read played all the European soccer matches. And after months of sitting amongst the fans as they watched their favorite teams, I got addicted. And then the strangest feeling, I wanted to play.

So I bought a soccer ball. Instinctively, I made soccer a solo sport.

I used to go down to the garage of my building early in the morning when no one could see me to kick the ball around. So at this point, I’m still shy, hardly butch, and incredibly insecure. And now to boot, I discover I have no coordination, and I flinch. Even just kicking the ball against the wall, so my own kick. As it came back to me, I flinched.

Meanwhile, I had started going to the Portland Timbers soccer matches, and during one game, after a spectacular goal, I turned to the stranger next to me to give him a high five.

I had never initiated a high five in my life. I took that as a sign that I was ready to join a team. So I set about to find a club, that would welcome me as I am, a middle-aged man, overweight, who’s never played soccer and flinches when the ball comes towards him.

So I decided on the Netwreppers, an inclusive soccer club, because one, they were unlikely to call me a faggot, and two, their website said that they welcomed everyone of all abilities. So I secretly scouted them out first, casually riding my bike past one of their practices.

Men and women of all ages were playing, but they all looked too good. So I emailed the team asking if they really welcomed everyone, even beginners who had never played. Instantly, I got messages back to reassure me that they did. So with butterflies in my stomach, I went to my first practice. One of the players, hearing that I had never played before, took me aside to show me some of the very basics before we joined everyone else in the drills. And then the second half was a scrimmage. My first time playing a game.

They put me in as defender, the big guy who probably can’t run. I wanted to yell, didn’t they tell you I flinch? But they discovered that on their own pretty quick. And I whiffed, how do you miss a soccer ball? And half the time it was stationary. And I got winded just running onto the pitch.

But I also took a ball to the chest, blocking a cross shot. And I sent a forward flying to the ground just by leaning slightly. That was advice from my fellow defender. He said, you’re a big guy. They’re going to bounce right off you. And they did.

After a practice, I thanked the captain and said my goodbyes. And to me, he said, great job today. We’ll see you next week.

He was talking to me. I was so ecstatic as I biked away, already looking forward to next week’s practice. Only later did it dawn on me this was an experience I deserved decades earlier. Thank you.