I spent the summer playing a little bit of Sunday league. My worn-out cleats were crying to be replaced. I was going to ask for some fancy boots. “No, They’re too expensive.” she said when I asked. “My friend said he’ll give you a pair of his,” my brother said. "Seriously?” I questioned. “Yes.” The next day, I jolted out of bed and got ready for school. After school I packed up and rushed down the loads of stairs to the field. Soon enough, everyone arrived and so did he. He had the shiny, pearlescent boots. "Thanks bro” I said, trying not to scream with excitement. I put them on and immediately felt the snug collar hug my ankle like they were meant to be together.In the midst of adoring the boots, I thought about what they meant. The highly-detailed shoes were designed for someone who could live up to their luxury. I loved these boots, but I felt guilty that I didn’t fit the criteria of the boots. These boots deserved a better player.A sudden drive killed the guilt and doubt in my mind. If these boots aren’t for me now, they will be someday. After that, my only mission was to get better and better. I spent my days regaining my senses and abilities. I don’t know if I am that person yet, but when I look back, all I know is that my 9th grader self would be proud of the progress. I still mess up, but all I can do is keep going. I am a different person now because of these boots. Recently, I was playing and started seeing tears in the soles. They too, were ready to be hung up. I wasn’t going to forget them. These boots served their purpose.

– Bryan V.

Relationship:  Child of im/migrant Child of im/migrant