I’m no stranger to being second string.
I spent my life always in the shadows. I was never as smart, talented, or outgoing as my siblings. Toss in the extended family, I might as well have been in the locker room.
Why I thought that would change as an adult, I do not know.
I’m still second string. The coach rarely moves me up to start.
It was decision time on the playing field of Life. I stood there waiting as the coach scanned the possible player choices.
Pick me, pick me, I silently pled.
I have the ability. I have the resources. I have the space.
But I was bypassed.
Game after game, I have the empty couch, the silent tv, and the worry of waiting until midnight when teens are safely back home.
You see, someone else always gets chosen to play. Someone else gets the full couch, the movies playing, the stories shared, the memories made, and the security of knowing no one is due home late.
Why can’t I be like “someone else”?
There’s always a reason given as to why I continue to be second string.
But coach, all the time?
I concede that a few games have been played where I was given a crack at the start.
More often than not, I was pulled out at the end of the first quarter and someone else brought into play.
What is wrong with me?
I thought I had a sure winner a few weeks ago when family came to town. Surely I’d be picked to play.
I was wrong. Someone else’s family came to town too and won the coin toss.
Well, you know what?
I am tired of being hurt. I am tired of feeling second rate. I am tired of not being good enough. I am tired of being made to feel guilty about my opinion.
But most of all,I am tired of crying.
So guess what, coach?
I’ll try out again a few years when the teams change.