Nervous. That’s how I felt as my mom drove me to my first practice for Special Olympic Basketball. I was volunteering to be a helper on the team, which is the person who passes the ball for the special needs kids to shoot, and re-bounds their shots afterwards. Overall I am just the person who keeps the game moving. As we got closer to our destination, I grew more and more nervous: nervous to meet the kids; nervous that the kids would not talk to me; nervous that we would be late to practice since we have never been to the gym before; nervous that I would not be able to carry on a conversation with the kids; nervous nervous nervous. My mom kept trying to talk to me, but I couldn’t really listen. I was just about to chicken out and tell her to turn the car around and drive home and never look back when we pulled into the gym parking lot. “We are here!!” sung my mom. “Great……” I moaned as we pulled into a parking spot.

As we walked towards the gym, my hands were producing gallons of sweat. For me, sweat symbolized my uncertainty towards the task I was about to preform, the fear swelling up inside me as I stepped, (or in this case leaped), out of my comfort zone. Therefore, I would constantly wipe my hands dry on my t-shirt, so I could hide my cowardliness from others. Nearing the entrance, I took a deep breath and walked inside. The gym was fairly small, blue mats lined the walls, along with safety tips and rules. Parents sat along the sidelines, chatting rather loudly due to the sound of basketballs hitting the ground. “Oh crap!” I muttered, the practice had already begun. I quickly scrambled across the gym towards the pile of empty basketball bags. Frantic, I tied up my shoes as one of the female instructors walked over to me. “Hi. My name is Kaitlyn Martin and, ummm, I am supposed to be volunteering as a helper?” the sentence ended as more of a question than a statement. Her finger scanned down her clipboard. Then again. “Oh yes, here you are!” she replied as she made a check mark on her clipboard, “My name is MaryKate and I will be your coach. Right now we are doing lay-up lines, go ahead and join in.” “Okay……” I stammered as a slowly wandered over. Practice continued. The coach ran us through several basic drills. Throughout the activities my teammates absolutely astounded me. I came into the gym thinking I would have to teach them everything, from shooting to what a basketball even looked like. But man, did I underestimate them. Most of them could shoot as far out as the foul line, and they had the basics of dribbling down. I immediately felt awful for what I thought before. How appalling of me to judge them, my own teammates, before I even saw their talent. As a way to make up for my repulsive thoughts, I followed the other helpers’ lead. I cheered on the players as they went through the activities, high-fived them as they joined the lines, and told them good job every possible chance I had. Before I knew it practice was over and, to be honest, I was a little sad. Playing basketball with the kids was so enjoyable. Their small bodies were full of energy and laughter, which was a nice change from the depressing, boring tone of my everyday life.

Practices continued throughout the rest of the month. I found myself looking forward to every Wednesday night to play basketball with the kids again. Little improvements were noticeable as the weeks passed by. The kids shooting, passing, and dribbling all improved. But most of all, their sportsmanship and teamwork greatly improved. Passing began to occur more frequently in scrimmages, along with the cheering and complements from fellow teammates. After a player scored, the rest of the team would raise their fists, howling in excitement, then the person who shot the basket would do a “high school musical” jump up in the air as they rushed back to play defense.

Finally, it was time to put what we learned in practice to use. Our tournament weekend arrived. Saturday consisted of two basketball games followed by the championship game on Sunday. Our team breezed by the first games, winning by over ten points each time. By the end of Saturday we were feeling pretty splendid. My team and I were excited for the championship game the next day, eager to win. After a night of good sleep, we came ready to play. Pumped up and set to go, our team began warm ups at ten o’clock sharp. Excitement and joy spread across my teammates faces as they talked about their hopes to win. When the game was ready to commence, we were ready. However, though it was a long battle to the end; our team just could not rise to the top. When the end siren rang our team dragged themselves off the court, frowns draping all their faces. “Come on guys! It’s all good! You guys played great,” announced our coach. But that did not improve my teammate’s feelings. Standing in a straight line, we accepted our silver medals. Although we did get 2nd place, that was not the reason I was sad or disappointed. It finally occurred to me that this was the last time I would probably ever see these kids. While posing for a group picture, I realized how much these kids changed my outlook on volunteering. Nervous at first, I was scared to experience the unknown, fearful to interact with people I never really understood. But experiencing this opportunity, I am now no longer holding myself back. And as I stood in the middle of the gym, posing for the parent paparazzi, I realized that this new experience was only the beginning.