The ending of a kid’s sports career. It can come from injuries or quitting for a higher calling, but mine ended for a different reason.

As long as I can remember, sports have been a huge part of my life. I played almost every sport as a kid. I quit soccer pretty young, but carried on with baseball, football and basketball for a while. I wasn’t huge as a kid, but my size and athleticism allowed me to be good at pretty much every sport. Then I got to the school level and everything changed. I had to compete with a lot more talent just to get any playing time, but that wasn’t my biggest challenge. My own body was.

I had been growing at a pretty fast rate and then once I got to seventh grade, it just stopped. I quit basketball that summer because I hardly ever touched the court in practice, much less in games. I was an average-sized kid who tried to play like a big man. In case anyone was wondering that wasn’t a very good combination. But it wasn’t too hard for me to quit basketball; I never really liked it that much. Football was a different story.

Always playing quarterback as a kid, I expected that’s where I would play in school ball, but I wasn’t tall enough. I got moved to safety, which was fine with me as long as I was starting. The year went by, and I played pretty well. I led the team in interceptions and became pretty happy with my position. Then the eighth grade came around, and once again everyone got bigger while I stayed the same height.

“You remember when you used to be so good in pee-wee?”

This question hurt more than any other.

I got to start the first game of the season at quarterback because the boys on the baseball team missed too much practice because of their trip to the Cal Ripken World Series. I didn’t do badly, but the next week I was placed where I would remain for the rest of the season. On the bench.

“You just aren’t big enough right now son. If we can just get you to grow some, you’ll be fine.”

Coach’s words rang through my head as I made the way back to the locker room. Watching practice from the sidelines that day was something I had never done. I hated it. I needed to get used to it though because that’s what I did during every practice and game for the rest of the year. Of course, I got to play in B games, but that was almost embarrassing to me. The whole season I just thought “It’s their time now; it will be mine later.”

When ninth grade came, things got even worse. I was the fourth string quarterback and hardly touched the field in B games. When I did get on the field, it felt like talking to a once good friend who had become a stranger, and I didn’t like it. My love for the game was still there, but my desire to be on the team wasn’t.  So I quit before my tenth grade year.

My dad was a college football player and All-American at the University of Arkansas at Monticello. He tried to get me to wait it out because he was confident I would grow. I had no confidence though, so I quit.

To this day, my dad can hardly go to a game because of what he thinks could have been. I’ve gotten over it, but I would be lying if I said it has never crossed my mind.

Now instead of being 5-7 and shorter than everybody, I’m nearly 6-3 and taller than most again. Not too long ago I ran into my old ninth grade coach and he said “If only you could’ve started growing back then.” He laughed, slapped me on the back and walked off, but I stood there and thought for a second, “if only.”