Movie and a Photo by Paris Holmes

            Ever since I saw the movie Back to the Future, I was so fascinated with the thought of going back in time. What if I could actually go back in time and change something in the past to make my future different, which would be today. It is weird but a deep thought. I wonder if I could write to little Paris and send an email to Mr. Holmes. Not possible at all, but I feel there is a one percent chance. Maybe I can’t change my past but I know there has to be a way I can revisit it.

            I looked through some old photos of me as a senior in high school. My birthday was in December so I was sixteen for three months. Just thinking of my age then compared to now made me go back even further. It made me go back to eighth grade. I remember my progress report being flushed down the toilet as I watch it sink like a person trapped in a whirlpool. The progress report was mailed to my house since my mother didn’t know about “Parent-Teacher conference” I purposely avoided telling her. Unfortunately, I don’t know how but that soggy progress report ended up on my dresser when I woke up. I could’ve starred right along with Michael J. Fox when I acted like I had a bad fever. Well at least I thought I would have gotten an Oscar. Too bad my mother was on to my shenanigans. My mother spanked me with the belt that was used by my grandmother to spank her, how ironic. I want to ask little Paris a question. What if that progress report never sunk back up? What if the beater from hell “my mom” never found that progress report? Would I be writing this story? Boy did I become a straight “A” student after that ass spanking, or ass whooping or whatever a person calls “thick leather belt to a thirteen year olds’ buttocks”.

            I love film but this is something that found its way to me. Little Paris would say that football is the one thing he loves to do. However, he did not realize that movies were just as much important to him. Film pretty much saved me from the pain I get when I think about not being able to play football. It hurts so much when I know that I am good enough and I tried everything in my heart to play but things just didn’t work out. Film helps the pain but photos of me in a football uniform brings me back to high school football.

            I was like fifteen year old. Here’s a great photo of me on the sideline. Here’s one of me giving water to the starters, at least I was on the field. Wow, this is the one photo that brings me back to my junior year when I was not getting any playing time. This is also the one photo that motivated me to become a starter my senior year.

            These other guys might be faster and bigger but I love this game and know that I cannot play this forever so I’m going to cherish every moment. That’s the upper hand I had over the other players. They did it for the touchdowns. I did it for the game.

            When I look at the photo that’s stuck on my sister’s refrigerator, I go into a daze. I think back to my very first game as a starter, as a senior football player. The picture is of me at age sixteen, lots of acne but not too extreme. We were home so we had to wear our dark-colored orange uniforms. My jersey number is 34. I should say, “My jersey number was 34” but I actually took my jersey. Although I did something amazing on special teams by returning a kick return back for a touchdown after telling my players I was going to score a touchdown, I did not do well on defense at all. It’s so crazy how I want to go back to that exact day and change it but I can’t. I can go back to that day, but I can’t change it. But I would like to ask little Paris another question. What if I actually did play well on defense and my team did end up winning?

            I question God sometimes and ask, why God? Why I couldn’t do something I love so much. One day I was just watching a random show of x football players. It showed the lives of many players after football. I was shocked to learn that a lot of players end up with brain diseases and injuries that become crucial.

            In my sports writing class, my professor went off topic today and told us a story about how the NFL would not give a dime to retired players. These players put their lives on the line for this game and to know that the NFL does not give a shit about them gets under my skin. The point my teacher was trying to make to us is that the sports writer who wrote all of those stories became the voice for those retired players. The point I am trying to make is that it’s weird how things work out. You might not understand why but you get to connect the dots as you go on with life.  

            My high school football team went 3-7. That was a bad record; we only beat the teams we were supposed to beat. I was really angry and I just wanted to take my anger out in college football. I started playing street football a lot with grown ups and other people that were actually playing in college. I had started playing with more anger. I was a wide receiver and usually wide receivers are the guys that avoid big hits. I actually ran towards the big hits and delivered big hits of my own. I just became possessed somewhat and just wanted to run everyone over. I was angry that scouts did not come to look at my high school when I was playing there so I had decided to attend college and walk on. Anyway, I went to a community college for two years and then transferred to a university. College was not for me; I just attended with hopes of playing football. Going in to the university, my major was sociology. I really thought the subject was interesting but I could not see myself being motivated to get up for work everyday. I had to change my major to something else. I wanted my major to be something I could actually enjoy doing. All I wanted to do was play football. It was football this and football that. I didn’t know what I had wanted to major in. I had a long talk with my mom and I finally figured out what I wanted to do, if “football” did not work out. It’s cliché but moms do know best.

            The way I play now, I can definitely see Mr. Holmes getting Alzheimer’s or some type of brain illness if I was able to play. I was willing to go head to head against a line backer twice my size. Even knowing that this can cause serious brain injuries, I still would love to do it.

            You’re welcome Mr. Holmes. You’re welcome Mrs. Holmes if I’d happen to get married later on in life, and my wife agrees to change her last name. That could be the reason God did not want me to play this game. I have too much heart for the game. I am like a soldier in the battlefield. I would risk my life for my team. That could be good and dangerous.

            It's good to think in the past, It'll keep you present for the future.