my why

        Always outspoken as the youngest of my mother’s three daughters, I seldom lacked a word to share. That, however, was far from the case the day I saw my mom crying over the sink, talking about the looming divorce between her and my father, and an eventual move to San Antonio. I sat. I observed. I was silent. 

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        To understand this moment, and to understand what it has to do with a sports class, is to understand what happened prior. In Panama City, Florida, in March 1999, weeks after my birth, my mother collapsed on a volleyball court during a rec league game. She was transported to a nearby hospital, and it was soon concluded that she had a brain tumor. This ended up being a cancerous tumor that led to a brain cancer diagnosis. My mother was in her early thirties. She had three daughters all under age five, including a newborn: myself. She had a loving husband that was in residency at a nearby Air Force base, hoping to become a family practice physician. Every facet of motherhood and much of her life was still ahead of her. 

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        Soon thereafter, her and my father relocated back to Texas, where both call home. They picked a small town between Houston and Austin named Brenham. It was optimal for treatment and near extended family for help if it was needed. I call Brenham, Texas my hometown. I grew up there from age two to age 18.

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        Miraculously, my mother survived her brain cancer. However, the removal of part of the frontal cortex of her brain left lasting effects and handicaps that she never asked for. This led to my parents' split that I detailed prior, and a decision for my mother to move from my beloved small town, to where all her family lived, in the much larger city of San Antonio, Texas. This was two and a half hours away from the small town I loved so dearly, where I believed my roots were set and destiny was held.

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        I decided that I wanted to live with my father and stay back in my quaint small town. This decision paved the way for my upbringing, and what I consider to be much of my childhood that I can remember, and all of my teenage years. This is where my story with sports truly begins.

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        Living with my father from elementary school age all the way through high school graduation, the easiest way for me to bond with him and capture his attention was to share hobbies with him. This is where I initially began placing sports on a pedestal in my life. My father taught me how to play soccer, helped me take up running as a hobby and a sport, and made sure I tried every sport at least once. Not only did he encourage me to play sports, he was even my coach for some of my little league teams growing up. 

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        Besides playing sports and helping me get involved, my father and I also watched many sports together. We lived in a home with only one television, and my dad is an avid fan of his alma mater, Notre Dame. Frequently the only choice was to watch what he already designated would be on the television that day. That being said, I grew up watching Fighting Irish football and thinking that the women who had the privilege of standing on that field with a microphone had the most prestigious job that existed. This placement of importance and prestige on sports was clearly me valuing what caught my father's attention. We bonded in this way, and I always tried to memorize or grab new factoids that he had yet to hear so that I would have something exciting to tell him when he got home from work. Soon, a passion was developed, and I have not looked back since. 

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        It took a while for me to come to terms with the dream I held in my heart with working in the sports world. I had always made excellent grades, prided myself on my intelligence and work ethic, and I could see the false reputation those on the outside looking in gave female sideline reporters and hosts. Some called them just a pretty face, and thought they held no real value or position in a man's world. 

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        I went into freshman year as a sports business major, telling some that perhaps I would become a sports agent. After all, that sounded intelligent, right? In the field I love, but something more commanding. Eloquent and rolls off the tongue. 

However, this was not truthfully what I desired. I love reporting, I have natural curiosity, I enjoy the pressure to perform in front of crowds in those moments when you have a hot mic. I knew that being a sports host and reporter was what I really coveted. From my second semester of college onwards, I have been honest with myself that the field I desire to go into is a very competitive one. To some, it may seem elusive or like a pipe dream. "Realistic" dreams are almost paradoxical. I decided the only person I had something to prove to was myself.

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         I am taking this class because growing up in a one parent household with my father gave me a deeply rooted desire to be the woman on the field holding the microphone and the coolest job in the world.

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         I want to be a great sports reporter. I want to be a great storyteller. 

         I believe that to do so, you must also be a great sports writer.