I soon grew angry and frustrated, blatantly refusing to take no for an answer. I left the house and took it out on the field instead. Throughout the rest of summer vacation, I trained and played as many games as I could to hone my skills to perfection. I was not upset that she had said no, rather, I was upset because she had not given me a chance to prove my worth as a player. She had only come to one of my football games and that was over ten years ago. What would she know? We were not rich, in fact, we were a bit off from modest, I knew that much, but I wanted to do it. I wanted to stand in the same ranks as people like David Beckham or Cristiano Ronaldo. I wanted to do something worthwhile with my life, something that didn't require being shut off in an office working from nine-to-five earning a minimum wage that barely paid off my loans.
Later on, my mother refused to even acknowledge my presence after she had found out I had been sneaking off in the evenings to play football with my team. I didn't know how to persuade her into letting me continue to do what I loved most. By the time school rolled around again, I was ready to tear my hair out from the stress. The tension every time we were in the same vicinity was palpable and enough to drive me mad. I started staying away from home, making up half-hearted excuses just to avoid my mother's disappointed sighs and tired glares.
My mother grew weary of my stubbornness, I knew that. I was still not willing to give up, but
whenever I broached the topic, it was as if I had hit a landmine and she would immediately leave the room. There was no doubt that she was willing to send me to college. In fact, that was the only reason she worked as hard as she did. My father was hardly ever in the picture, sending only enough money back to cover household expenses. It was more of a responsibility than a gesture of care and love, though. My mother wanted something different for me, something that didn't involve a football.
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