• My life was pretty ordinary and always influenced by the positive reinforcement brought on by my parents. I always looked up to them. I always respected their choices for me even if sometimes I didn’t like them. My parents were always there for me and they always encouraged me to follow my heart. I never felt the pressure from them like my best friend Tripp did. I never had to deal with a parent demanding me to do something. I was never screamed at to do better.. My dad is the ‘soccer mom’, where as my mother is the working woman in the household. Sure we aren’t your average family but it’s who we are. Together we are a prime example of what you would call an oddball family, the people who stand out of statistics and get ignored. Where as there’s my pal Tripp. His family consists of his dad and formerly his mom. There was a divorce and a vicious custody battle a few years back. Somehow Tripp was forced to hug his mom before being dragged out to his dad’s SUV and driven all the way to where he lives now. Tripp isn’t given the opportunity to see him mom anymore, he was never even given the choice of which parent he wanted to live with. Even so he feels like a piece of meat that was fought over for nothing. Perhaps you could say his father wanted custody just to feed his ego, to know that after all the years of bickering he had won. It's hard to say but from what I've seen and heard, Tripp's father is the kind of man who should never have been allowed to be a parent.

    Tripp’s my best friend. He is the one person that I trust more than then my parents. He’s always there, always awesome. He is the athlete and he has amazing talent. Granted he has the ability to kick a soccer ball a mile if he really tried, he never brags. We’ve been friends ever since the fifth grade when he moved to the neighborhood.

    I was influenced by my parents going up, and still am today. Tripp was influenced by his dad too, but not by choice. Therefore, we do not like to talk about him very much. Tripp is the splitting image of his dad: tall, tanned skin with jet black hair and green eyes. However, the guy is extremely serious and lives through Tripp. They are dire opposites when it comes to their personalities. Tripp’s dad was going to be an athlete but after he left school early to go pro a severe injury ruined his chances of ever getting drafted. Tripp inherited his father’s passion for sports. However, his family coach ruins every game. He shouts across the field like a baboon hurling death threats, dancing and throwing his arms up with every chance he gets. You might call it verbal abuse but it’s a lot more psychological then you may think. The phrase, ‘Sticks and stones may break my bones but words will never hurt me’ doesn’t apply to Tripp. Now that he ended up stuck with his dad the guy doesn’t stand a chance. So we stick it out together through the lectures and the insults. We always wondered when something drastic would happen, when some one would finally just tell Tripp’s dad to shut his mouth and let the game continue. That day came on any ordinary day and yet it was different. It changed us both for the rest of our lives and impacted us in a way that is somewhat indescribable.

    It was just ordinary try-outs on that day and Tripp was seventeen. This guy was really working his butt off to get onto the all-stars team for the province. He dribbled like no other. I watched from my spot in the line as he wound himself around the cones. His feet moved with a delicate precision and rhythmic motion that made it into an art. When the sweat dripped into his eyes he blinked it away and kept going. The evaluators nodded and scribbled notes onto their clipboards waving the next person to start.

    “Woot! Yeah Tripp!” I shouted with a couple of the others. We were all friends so there was no harm in praising the competition. He finished his run and I jerked up to stand for my turn. I moved but not in the same way, I tried too hard you might say. My legs bounced and juggled as I made my way through. I was good but I didn’t compare to the legend now standing at the back of the line. I raised my head to the sky as I finished and gave a silent thanks to the people of above, I had not knocked over any of the cones. It was almost guaranteed that Tripp would make it onto this team, if anyone deserved it, it was him. Tripp was the kind of athlete who still had to try, still had to practice. Unlike Beckham, soccer wasn't effortless. Everyone who was trying out understood that.

    “What are you doing this weekend?” Tripp asks me as he pants and waits in front of me. His body was really sweating and his red jersey was drenched. The sun was at it’s fiercest peak which made us incredibly cautious about keeping hydrated.

    “I’m busy, mum wanted for me to help clean out the attic. Why?” I responded quickly as I watch Tripp go ahead of me and hustle through the line of cones for a third time. I go after him and finish with another lucky run. I kick the ball gently over to the next guy in line before heading off to the sidelines and grabbing my black water bottle. Tripp is sitting there in the shade relaxing while I already know he wants to spend the weekend at my house. I shouldn’t have asked as I can see the pain in his face. Sometimes I really should think through what I say to him. I can tell my quick response was pretty much like me slamming a door in his face. I can understand he wants to get away from his dad this weekend, supposedly fresh back from a business trip. I open my mouth to apologize and give him an offer of some intense training at the park that would follow movies on Friday. But before I can even mutter a word I am rudely interrupted.

    “Tripp Hastings!”

    The voice yelled out and for a second I think that I’m imaging things as I stare straight at Tripp. He doesn’t move from his position on the ground at all. His legs remained crossed with his back leaned up against the fence, his gaze glued to the sky as harmless clouds are blown quickly out of sight by the wind, a rare thing for where we live.

    Tripp!”

    It came again but this time I knew that voice and I turned to look at the source. Marching across the field was none other then Tripp’s man of the house. His dad, the ‘Big Kahuna’ looked infuriated. As always we expect the worst out of him, another lecture on how you’re supposed to be ‘The One’, and in his very words ‘The Best’. I knew that the reason he was mad was because we were sitting doing nothing. To be the best you had to always be on your feet, working at 100% without ever stopping to breath. At least, that was what Tripp's dad expected. Somehow it seemed as if he thought his son was a robot who would just keep going and never blow a gasket.

    “What are you doing, sitting around? You have try-outs, get moving!” His voice snaps at us. We both hear him but neither of us move. Everyone is at a standstill except for the coach who is now walking over to us both, clipboard in hand and track pants squeaking.

    “These two gentlemen have permission to be taking a break Mr. Hastings, we don’t want to get them dehydrated or give them heat stroke.” He spoke. Then I am greeted with an unhappy expression on the face of the man being spoken to. It was Mr. Hastings who tried to make it so that his son didn’t end up like him; a pile of worthless junk sitting on the sidelines. I give the man credit because I know that he always tried. But his efforts were in vain because of the way he yelled at people. With still no response from Tripp I look up to meet eyes with a ferocious beast ready to eat the both of us whole. So I decide to stand up and encourage for my best friend to do the same. Finally Tripp turns and looks at his dad, meeting the man in the eyes for the first time since he appeared across the field.

    “O, hey dad.” He says as if it was nothing. Tripp speaks with a tone that tells his father he doesn’t care one bit he’s standing there. Instead I watch my best friend lean further into the fence still and take another swig from his own water bottle.

    “Tripp get back out there!” He barks and by now I can see Mr. Hastings turning red in the face because he’s so mad. We don’t see something like this too often, especially out of a business man like Mr. Hastings. Yet it is occurring right in front of me and I have to be honest, it’s scaring the crap outta me. Lucky for both of us our coach tries to intervene again.

    “Mr. Hastings, we have a try-out to finish.” He says, but behind such strong words is a tinge of fear. Everyone is just plain scared of him, now even our coach. What happens next astonishes me.

    I watch in terror as Mr. Hastings makes the first move. His body leans over his son like a tower and his head looks about ready to explode. His hand reaches out, grab’s the collar of Tripp’s jersey, and the fabric tears with a shriek as he yanks his son to a stand. Then Tripp is then thrown into the fence with such brutal force that I think maybe we shouldn’t have underestimated Mr. Hastings. Unable to stop or brace himself Tripp’s body flies into the fence at an incredible speed and his head whips back and snaps in a sickening way. His eyes pop in terror and his body collapses onto the ground. I am silenced as is everyone else. I catch Tripp’s dad ready to sweep in and pummel his defenseless son on the ground. I then make the decision to move in and kick him where it serves to him right. Mr. Hastings topples over onto the ground groaning in agony and I turn to my best friend on the grass.

    “Tripp, buddy, are you alright?” I manage to say. My voice stutters with the anxiety of the situation. By then the coach had grabbed Tripp’s dad in an act of faith to prevent the man from inflicting any further harm, on myself or his son. As I sit there and comfort him I can’t help but think of what could have been done. I can hear Tripp’s dad yelling in the background and the coach is yelling back at him. I then look up with a sickened face to see the others who only stand and gawk. I can overhear one of the players calling 911 in the background amidst the chaos. My eyes water as I turn back to my friend as he lays before me in a heap, his chest pumping up and down so rapidly that you would think he was hyperventilating. I can tell by the look of his face that he's scared but also that by the position of his head that something was terribly wrong.
    Please don’t be too late…