Because this is a rough draft, I realize that it is fraught with errors. And while I very much appreciate any form of feedback, I am most interested in how this essay sounds to the reader (voice, style, organization, etc.). Thanks in advance to anyone who is willing to help!
"Faggot," he said tauntingly, coughing to make his remark less conspicuous. Wincing, I could feel a sharp pang of resentment rocketing through my body. I sat up, the urge to confront him welling up inside of me. His piercing eyes begged for a reaction. And then it came. A cursory glance. His leering gaze transformed into a broad grin of spiteful pleasure. Josh looked away, helplessly squirming in his seat. The impulse faded, replaced by another all-but-too-familiar feeling. Fear.
For years, fear has forced me to sit cowering behind my "straight" persona and witness Josh's pain. It has reminded me of what it means to live an isolated existence in a fiercely heterosexual agrarian community, surrounded by people who hate me for who I am. It has been my bitter reminder of what it means to be a "faggot." And the very thought of it terrified me.
As a result, I morphed into a person whose attempts at asking insightful questions or engaging in class discussions were thwarted by the sneering remarks of his classmates, a person who sacrificed opportunities to try new things because of the inevitable embarrassment and initial failure that would result. It seemed everything I did was characterized by fear. That is, everything except soccer. During this time, soccer was my escape. There was no mindless fear of being judged. No pretending to be someone I am not. But almost inevitably, not even soccer remained untouched for long.
As I dawned on my freshman year, I began making mistakes. Egregious ones. And lots of them. A bad touch on the ball. A misplaced shot. I tried to reassure myself that it was a lack of concentration, a fluke. But the mistakes did not lie. And neither did the verbal lashings I received from incensed coaches and teammates. My sanctuary had been compromised.
Yet over the course of that season, something had stoked the nearly extinguished fire inside of me. No longer did I brace myself for heart-sinking criticism and disappointment when I made mistakes. Instead, I invested time in going for runs to build up my endurance, practicing new soccer tricks, or working on the mechanics of my shot.
But I did not stop there. With my fierce resolve to better myself as a soccer player came a much-needed dose of confidence, one that has given me a new attitude toward life. Pushed by more than just my passion for playing soccer or making the varsity team, I was ready to prove myself wrong, demonstrate that my fear of being gay does not have to define my life. And as a result, soccer became more than an outlet for channeling my pent-up frustrations; it became my proving ground. My catalyst for change.
Today, I no longer shy away from decorating the sets of school play productions, or perfecting the extracted art of baking a Buche de Noel for French class, or writing and editing for the school newspaper for fear of being labeled "gay." And no longer am I the bashful student of years past. Instead I shoot off questions in rapid-fire fashion, making sure that my voice and my opinions are heard. But above all, I have learned the power of leading by example. As elected team captain, I have become a better person by treating my teammates with respect and showing what it means to be a good sport on and off the field.
The truth is, soccer has introduced me to a person who has learned to appreciate all that life has to offer. A person who does not allow fear to define his life.
"Faggot," he said tauntingly, coughing to make his remark less conspicuous. Wincing, I could feel a sharp pang of resentment rocketing through my body. I sat up, the urge to confront him welling up inside of me. His piercing eyes begged for a reaction. And then it came. A cursory glance. His leering gaze transformed into a broad grin of spiteful pleasure. Josh looked away, helplessly squirming in his seat. The impulse faded, replaced by another all-but-too-familiar feeling. Fear.
For years, fear has forced me to sit cowering behind my "straight" persona and witness Josh's pain. It has reminded me of what it means to live an isolated existence in a fiercely heterosexual agrarian community, surrounded by people who hate me for who I am. It has been my bitter reminder of what it means to be a "faggot." And the very thought of it terrified me.
As a result, I morphed into a person whose attempts at asking insightful questions or engaging in class discussions were thwarted by the sneering remarks of his classmates, a person who sacrificed opportunities to try new things because of the inevitable embarrassment and initial failure that would result. It seemed everything I did was characterized by fear. That is, everything except soccer. During this time, soccer was my escape. There was no mindless fear of being judged. No pretending to be someone I am not. But almost inevitably, not even soccer remained untouched for long.
As I dawned on my freshman year, I began making mistakes. Egregious ones. And lots of them. A bad touch on the ball. A misplaced shot. I tried to reassure myself that it was a lack of concentration, a fluke. But the mistakes did not lie. And neither did the verbal lashings I received from incensed coaches and teammates. My sanctuary had been compromised.
Yet over the course of that season, something had stoked the nearly extinguished fire inside of me. No longer did I brace myself for heart-sinking criticism and disappointment when I made mistakes. Instead, I invested time in going for runs to build up my endurance, practicing new soccer tricks, or working on the mechanics of my shot.
But I did not stop there. With my fierce resolve to better myself as a soccer player came a much-needed dose of confidence, one that has given me a new attitude toward life. Pushed by more than just my passion for playing soccer or making the varsity team, I was ready to prove myself wrong, demonstrate that my fear of being gay does not have to define my life. And as a result, soccer became more than an outlet for channeling my pent-up frustrations; it became my proving ground. My catalyst for change.
Today, I no longer shy away from decorating the sets of school play productions, or perfecting the extracted art of baking a Buche de Noel for French class, or writing and editing for the school newspaper for fear of being labeled "gay." And no longer am I the bashful student of years past. Instead I shoot off questions in rapid-fire fashion, making sure that my voice and my opinions are heard. But above all, I have learned the power of leading by example. As elected team captain, I have become a better person by treating my teammates with respect and showing what it means to be a good sport on and off the field.
The truth is, soccer has introduced me to a person who has learned to appreciate all that life has to offer. A person who does not allow fear to define his life.
