This is my favorite poem that I have written. I used to coach this kid Seth, who I had coached since he was about 4, but had known since he was about 3. I seriously adore this kid. Now he is eleven (maybe ten), and still the sweetest, most hardworking kid I have met in a really long time.
Now, the feathers. He asked me what my deal was once. I was really upset, and he had no clue why I wasn't acting like myself. I had just bought a new dream catcher, and a few other large feathers. My goal was to find a type of feather that I wanted for a tattoo. That day I had also found out that one of my biggest nightmares had been caught and put in prison. It was bittersweet.
When I was younger, I heard this Native American legend. The short version is this: A young girl was begged by Earth to pick up the feathers that the Great Eagle had left each time he took off for flight. They were his promise to Earth that he would return, but they were piling up. Each feather symbolized a promise, a lie, a secret, or a dream. The little girl wove them into dream catchers to protect people from broken promises, festering lies, told secrets, or lost dreams. Over time, she became very sad and passed the job down to a little girl in the tribe. And the story goes on.
When I was eleven, one of my teammates beat me up regularly. He made me scared to play the game that I loved more than anything. He made me hate myself for things I couldn't help. He made me hate myself for things I could help, and so I changed those things. I cut off my hair, wore only boy's clothes, and deepened my voice as much as I could. I lost most of the range of my voice. I stopped being the sweet little girl that I was and became a haunted monster. Seth was just a little bit younger than what I was when he hurt me. I was lucky to meet my coach that year, and he really did save me from myself. He didn't let that kid bully me.
I told Seth that I had gotten a new dream catcher. He asked me how many I had. I had ten. He thought I was stupid. I told him I liked feathers, and that dream catchers were beautiful. He asked me why I loved dream catchers in particular. And instead of telling him about being hurt, having nightmares, or the abuse I endured for a year, I lied. I tried to break the cycle of shattered naivety and told him that they were awe inspiringly beautiful. He rolled his eyes and then asked me what we were doing.
The coach who had saved me was there. I still go to skate for him when I can. I don't think he has any idea what he saved me from. I don't think he knows how close I came to quitting hockey. He never saw the bruises or the cuts. He never heard the name calling or the saw the hair pulling. I would like to think that I can save other kids from that too by helping him. He is one of the biggest inspirations in my life. He and Seth. I hope one day I have the nerve to tell him to his face.
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