Solo Hope Solo (online e book reading .TXT) 📖

“You have pushed me to be better. Just know your dad is always watching.”

III.

I was back in goal for our next game against Norway, on July 14 in Connecticut. Marcus and I had each taken a small container of our father’s ashes, and kept them with us all the time. Marcus took my dad fishing. I carried my dad with me into the locker room. After all, he had always joked that he was helping me out in goal while he watched my games on television. “I’m going to trip those forwards for you,” he would say gleefully.

I needed him to be right beside me, tripping forwards. We shut out Norway, 1–0.

I missed talking to him. He was the one who could comfort me, who could put all the pressure in perspective and make me laugh. He understood sports and knew what to say. Unable to call him as the biggest tournament of my life approached, I started writing to him in a journal.

July 15, 2007

Here I am sitting aboard a flight coming back home to Seattle. Seattle doesn’t feel like home without you there. No longer do I have a place to go to just talk, laugh, cry, eat or nap. This year, Dad—my first World Cup—I dedicate to you. You’re coming to China with me and you’re going to help me tend that goal. It was good to get back on the field after taking three weeks off. We shut out Norway together didn’t we? I’ve never felt so at ease in the net. I didn’t have a care in the world. I want to make your legacy live on.

I want to possess your “I don’t give a fuck” attitude. Greg’s a worm, Dad! A heartless soulless illogical man. Politics, right Dad? Fuck him. Not a word to me my first week back, not one word. In fact, he didn’t even give me a day to get my feet wet again before he felt the need to ride me. . . .

You are so right that any time I feel lonely I can pull a memory out and then lock it back up for the next time I need it. Nobody can take my memories away. You’ve taught me so well, Dad. You have prepared me for life. You have taught me how to fight, how to love deeply, how not to get bullied, how to reach out to others, how not to judge, how to enjoy life, how to be happy no matter where I walk. You have taught me to be me, and you are such a part of me. I will carry your spirit inside me no matter where I go.

I wish I told you how much I loved you Dad. I wish I called you more. I wish I brought you over more. I wish I didn’t act so fucking busy or like it was ever a burden to take you anywhere. I am truly sorry if I ever made you feel that way. There was never a moment I didn’t enjoy with you, never, Dad. I was always so proud of the man you were. We all make mistakes, Dad, but your heart was truly pure. I love you, Dad.

IV.

On my twenty-sixth birthday, Adrian took me to dinner at the restaurant on top of the Space Needle. We looked out over Seattle as the restaurant revolved—east to the Cascades and my past, west toward China and my immediate future. I looked down on the streets where my father had lived for so many years. Eighteen years earlier, he had brought Marcus and me to this same spot, in a gesture of love that crippled our relationship for years.

The only birthday present I opened that day was from my father. When he cleaned out his apartment, Marcus found carefully wrapped and labeled birthday and Christmas presents for both of us. My father had missed so many birthdays and holidays that he was determined to be a good father and make up for lost time. Inside the box was a gold bracelet with Swarovski crystals. For years he joked that he only bought me “sporty” gifts and wanted to make sure I knew that he thought I was a beautiful young lady. And here was a ladylike gift for me.

Everything that happened reminded me of my father. I wanted to tell him about Barry Bonds breaking the career home-run record and my upcoming ESPN interview about him with Julie Foudy. I wanted to share every experience with him.

Aug. 9, 2007

I miss you an incredible amount. It’s like I’m on a mission now. I’ve never felt so focused before. I’m not sure what I’d do if the World Cup wasn’t around the corner, giving me something and somewhere to focus my energy. Once in a while I wonder if you sacrificed for me, Dad. It seems so strange to think. We’ve talked and waited for this day for years—for me to finally be part of a World Cup. Now it’s here, it’s all happening, Dad, and it’s just not fair not to be able to go through it together, to talk about it all, to laugh at the commercials. I can’t find words to explain how strange it all is. Why now, Dad? Why, when I’m finally getting the reward for all the years of sacrifice, of being away, of never finding time to spend with loved ones, it’s tainted. The one single person I want to share all the glory with, as opposed to the years of heartache, is gone. Dad, I don’t understand, unless you wanted to give me a reason to fight, to focus, to not get rattled. God knows, Dad, that I realize the many senseless things in life, and getting nervous in a soccer match seems so petty and very, very senseless.

I love you, Daddy. I hate to tell you but Barry Bonds finally did it. I’m sorry, Dad, but Hank