Sports Weekend

memory

The youth group rode to Sports Weekend in a bus. I had no real interest in sports, due to a deformity in my brain. But I anticipated the weekend part of the event. In order to attend this youth retreat we would have to drive a certain number of hours. Going on any youth retreat caused my pulse to quicken, because it meant there would be a bus ride.

However, you couldn’t go to sports weekend unless you signed up to play a sport. I scanned the list and found “Archery”. No one had signed up under “Archery”. I’d done some archery. I signed up to be our church’s lone archer.

I walked around and observed the rest of the events. People ran. They jumped. They played basketball. They played volleyball. They drove golf balls. The participants from my church gathered to support our various contestants and teams. The time came for my archery event. I did not publicize my event and walked there alone. I competed without a witness from our group.

I found the bales of hay they’d set up, and to which they’d pinned the target. I looked around at my competitors.

The kids from the other churches who’d signed up to compete as archers were all disabled. Most of them were mentally handicapped, but one of the entrants was in a wheel-chair.

Did I get a little excited when I saw this and realized that I would take first place? No. Instead, I got very excited.

Archery did not occupy a hallowed space for Sports Weekend. They’d spent most of the archery budget on the hay bales. If the bow and arrows were not purchased at the dollar store, then there must be a more depressing store full of lower quality goods and they were purchased there. I stepped up to the line and thought back on my extensive archery training.

My first shot misfired. Since I occupied the enviable position of the only non-handicapped contestant, everyone felt fine about laughing at this failed shot. I felt a slap of embarrassment.

“I’m not used to this kind of a bow, I guess,” I said. The guy in the plaid jacket who totaled the points shrugged.

I shot again. A solid shot, not quite a bullseye. I shot again. Dead center. I was done. No one cheered.

I watched the other contestants. They did not do well. Many of them did not hit the hay bales at all.

When it was over, I had beaten a group of disabled children at archery. I thought about this a lot.

In terms of total points, our church’s team obliterated everyone. At the end of the event, all points tallied, our youth group leader gathered us and read through each event, the names of participants, the honors and points they earned. He got to my name. He looked confused.

“Josh, you did Archery?” he said.

“Uh, yes,” I said.

“You got first place in Archery?” he said.

“Yeah,” I said. The attitude of my responses did not convey that my victory required any qualification. In the world my responses conjured, I had competed against other able archers and won.

“Well, good job,” my youth leader said.

I nodded a little nod to accept the blessing. I felt good. I smiled a little smile. I felt good and not empty.