November 17, 2017

Letter to the Editor: Field of Dreams

It’s extremely peaceful here. Just thinking of the green beneath me takes me back in time. I loved the breeze, the grass, and the way the sun beamed down, creating tall dancing shadows. My field of dreams wasn’t just any field. It isn’t filled with trees, butterflies, and flowers.

In fact, a lot of the time it is very empty, leaving behind only memories of previous excitement. But when it is full, it is filled with many different things. Over the years, I personally, have been to the field as a cheer leader, a marcher, a homecoming representative, and a fan.

If I were to go back there today, I know that time would still stand still. My field is a location where I have made many friends, worn many uniforms, and cried many tears. We grew up together. My football field is the best friend I never had.

Like myself, the field had to grow, and we grew together. Before proudly wearing a uniform, I rolled and tackled on this field desperately trying to keep up with the guys.

Like a true best friend, the field and I shared secrets, the same dirt, and the same grass stains. The field made me strong and taught me to keep my head high no matter what. I was there to play a game whenever I could, and it didn’t matter if we won or lost: the field always won. She always won the affection of our hearts, and we kept coming back for more any chance we could get.

Mom tried to get the tremendous amount of dirt stains out of my clothes after every weekend, but in all honesty, I didn’t mind them. I would hold onto anything that would remind me of my best friend, my field of dreams.

ERASomewhere within my early teen years, I became in awe of cheerleading and its every purpose. Like a best friend would do, my field shared this affection with me. We cheered together and stood strong in front of the crowd, never giving in to the opposing threats. I was more than strong now; I had a purpose and a passion.

I knew who my opposing team was, and I fought to keep them off of my own turf. My cheer uniform wasn’t nearly as dirty as my old tomboy clothes, but my white shoes desperately showed its love for the field, and once again, we were sharing dirt stains.

Being a freshman came fast, and now my field of dreams was in my back yard. My best friend was waiting for me all these years, and now, we could finally face high school together. I put down my cheer leading uniform and picked up a shako, a plume, and a set of drum sticks.

As much as I loved cheering, when high school came along, we didn’t share the field anymore. We shared the side lines. I couldn’t give my best friend only half of the attention that she deserved. I decided there was no better way to show my pride than to join the marching band.

My first lesson while marching was to point my chin up and to keep my head high no matter what: the same lesson the field had taught me many years ago. Yes, the marching band would do just fine.

My shoes went from white to black, and I no longer could see the dirt from a mile away. But it was still there, not a lot of it, but enough to remind me of all the good times I’ve shared with my best friend.

It was announced over the high school intercom one afternoon for the entire school to hear. I, Sierra White, was a homecoming representative. Out of all the votes in my grade, I was picked to walk the field of dreams up to a roaring crowd and to be recognized for all that I had accomplished.

I wonder if the field would have voted for me, too. She always had a way of surprising me. On that Friday night, I wore the pinkest, most girly, most sparkly dress I could imagine. It was my own personal uniform for the night: my own way of stating my pride. My shoes went from white, to black, to a silver rhinestone embellished heel.

Looking back, I should have thanked the field in my statement; I should have let everyone know how my journey with her had brought me right there under her spotlight. If there was dirt on my heels, I sure didn’t notice.

My beautiful field had completely transformed me into a lady. And in ways, I like to believe that I had changed her, too. What was once a grass field is now a green artificial turf. It’s sad to think that no one will ever again share the dirt stains that bound our friendship together, but I’m hoping that her memories live to be much older than the field herself.

Although today it is rare for me to step foot on the field, I now visit when I can but as something different, something that shows just as much pride if not more. I visit the field as a fan.

From the stands I have a clear view of my best friend, and it’s a shame to think that my shoes will no longer carry away the dirty memories of the field of dreams: but my heart always will, just like a best friend.

 

~ Sierra White (Former Heard High School student)

 

Comments

  1. Nancy Heard says:

    Awesome, Sierra! That field is an old friend to many of us. What a cool tribute to it.

  2. Wylene Spearman, teacher at HHS says:

    Great memories and very well-written

  3. Terrie B Sikes says:

    I enjoyed reading this Sierra. I love and miss you sweetie! ~Momma Sikes

  4. Sierra White says:

    i miss all of you and the field as well!! im currently an English major and this essay really hit home. i hope i can come visit soon!!

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