Genes of steel passed down through the generations, graciously greeted me. A history of athletic endeavors tells our story in the novel of our lives. For my mom, a knitted net and a blank white ball proved her power. All my dad needed to be an acrylic covered court and a neon yellow ball, soft like a warm, silky blanket. In my case, I’ve swum around in all of it. I’ve done everything from kicking up dirt clouds on the field to squeaking around with a leather ball in hand. My personal strong suit, pure speed, carries me as I dig the metal spikes into the squishy, synthetic surface. Even my screaming muscles can’t stop me from lunging over the finish line.

Success in sports seems to be inherited, but in my sister’s case, it seems as if she’s been skipped over. Two summers with a metal bat and a tee stand couldn’t keep her interested. One year of my mother’s forte, diving on the court was not enough to captivate her. Even though she came before me, they say my selfishness stole all the ability away from her, forever keeping her from the gifts like an ocean, separating two people, making an embrace an impossible task.