Sports Reflections
Sports Sanctuary
My Safe Haven Through Moves, Mishaps, and Middle School
Moving as a kid is hard. Moving in middle school? Downright brutal. I learned that firsthand in seventh grade when my family packed up our lives and moved from the only town I’d ever known to Texas. Back home, life had been easy—I had friends, I was good at sports, and school came naturally. But then, suddenly, I was the new kid.
And let me tell you, the new student in middle school might as well be an alien. What was I supposed to do – just walk up to every new kid and say, “Hey, I’m Jeffrey Charles Ford, the new kid – wanna hang out?”
My parents thought getting involved in church would help me make new friends, so they signed me up for a church youth trip to Colorado. This, in theory, was supposed to be my big moment to bond with the group. In reality, it was the single most humiliating experience of my young life.
See, at that age, I had one very firm rule: No. Public. Bathrooms. Ever. I just wasn’t doing it. If it wasn’t my house, it wasn’t happening. But here we were, camping in the middle of the woods with no other option. So I did what any irrational seventh grader would do—I just… didn’t go. For a week.
Let me paint a picture: By the time we got on the bus to head home, my body was in full rebellion. It was like Mount Vesuvius and Old Faithful had teamed up for a catastrophic event in my stomach. Finally, I couldn’t take it anymore. I sprinted to the back of the bus, did what had to be done, and emerged hoping no one would notice.
Oh, they noticed.
The cool kids, in their infinite middle school wisdom, had relocated to the front half of the bus, gagging and covering their faces with bandanas like I had committed a crime against humanity. Someone started throwing baby powder toward the back as if that was going to help. And my seatmate? He abandoned ship. It was, without a doubt, the longest bus ride of my life.
After that, I knew one thing for sure: That church group was not my safe space. But where I did feel at home? Sports.
No matter where we moved—whether it was Texas or later St. Louis—sports became my refuge. It was the one place where I didn’t have to prove myself with words or try to fit into some existing friend group. I just had to perform. If I was good, I belonged. And I was good.
Looking back, I can see how much I tied my self-worth to my performance. Every time I stepped onto a field or court, it wasn’t just about playing a game—it was about proving that I was worth something. That I deserved to be there. That I had value.
It’s funny how you don’t see it at the time. You just think you’re competing. But really, I was searching for acceptance, and sports gave me that when nothing else did.
Today, I understand that my worth isn’t in what I can do, but in who I am. But man, at 13? As an 18-year-old? That didn’t cross my mind once. Back then, all I knew was that if I was fast enough, strong enough, or skilled enough, people had to accept me. It’s what kept me going through all the moves, awkward moments, and (tragic) youth group experiences.
So yeah, sports were my refuge. And I’ll always be grateful for that—even if my church bus trip permanently traumatized me in ways I’m still working through.
Be well,
Jeff Ford