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  Big Girls Don’t Cry—They Score

  Big Girls Don’t Cry—They Score

  Taleen Khleifat

  BLUEFISH RIVER PRESS

  Duxbury, Massachusetts

  Copyright ©2017 by BLUEFISH RIVER PRESS LLC. All rights reserved.

  This publication, portions of it, or any companion materials or their derivations, may not be reproduced in any way, stored in a retrieval system of any type, or transmitted by any means, media, electronic display or mechanical display, including, but not limited to, photocopies, recordings, Internet postings, or scans, without prior permission in writing from the publisher.

  Publisher: David Pallai

  BLUEFISH RIVER PRESS LLC

  PO Box 1398

  Duxbury, MA 02332

  [email protected]

  www.bluefishriverpress.com

  1-781-934-0500

  This book is printed on acid-free paper.

  Taleen Khleifat. Big Girls Don’t Cry—They Score

  ISBN: 978-0-9714701-56.

  Names, characters, places, soccer information, and events are the product of the author’s recall, imagination, or they are used fictitiously. Any similarities or resemblances to actual businesses, persons (living or deceased), incidents, locations, are entirely coincidental. The publisher recognizes and respects all marks used by companies, manufacturers, and developers as a means to distinguish their products. All brand names and product names mentioned in this book are trademarks or service marks of their respective companies. Any omission or misuse (of any kind) of service marks or trademarks, etc. is not an attempt to infringe on the property of others. The publisher is not responsible for websites (or their content) that are not owned by the publisher or its imprints. A complete list of references and acknowledgments can be found at www.bluefishriverpress.com.

  161718321 Printed in the United States of America

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  To the strongest, most courageous woman—my mother,

  and all the girls out there wanting to pursue their dreams.

  Contents

  Preface

  Chapter 1 Baby Steps

  Chapter 2 The Little Girl Who Fell in Love with the Game

  Chapter 3 First Kick to Forever

  Chapter 4 Big Girl Steps

  Chapter 5 Bye Bye Spirit

  Chapter 6 The Start of Something New

  Chapter 7 Run Like a Girl

  Chapter 8 Not So Big After All

  Chapter 9 Smaller Than I Thought

  Chapter 10 From Zero to Something

  Chapter 11 Back in Action

  Chapter 12 A New Beginning

  Chapter 13 Kicked Her Way to the Top

  Chapter 14 No Goals But There is Glory

  Chapter 15 First Practice Disaster

  Chapter 16 Get Back Up On Your Feet—Literally

  Chapter 17 Sometimes Big Girls Cry

  Chapter 18 Playing for Her

  Chapter 19 The Name on the Front Became Official

  Chapter 20 To Be Continued

  Epilogue

  Preface

  … Her concentration and determination is clearly seen as she glares at the opponents before her. With the ball juggling in between her two feet, she swiftly passes each upcoming defender. She looks up from the ground and sets her eyes on the prize; the goal. She concentrates on the ball; focusing her mind and energy on her upcoming moves. With one instep kick, she sent the ball spiraling in the air. BOOM! Is the sound the ball makes while soaring through the clear blue sky. She hears the crowd scream and cheer as the ball inches closer and closer to the goal. She then can’t hear anything but the sound of the ball hitting the net …

  Welcome to my first book. It is an autobiography dedicated to the many girls out there who struggle and face similar challenges I once faced, and those they continue to face today. My name is Taleen Khleifat, and I am 15, going on 16. This book talks about my life and my story up until the age of 14. When I was 10, my family moved from Washington DC to Amman, Jordan. Everything I had known suddenly changed—my friends, my language, my school, the things I liked to eat, and the things I liked to do—like play soccer.

  I wrote this book to inspire girls my age and younger to continue to follow and pursue their dreams, and to never give up, even when feeling doubtful. My story here focuses on athletes who have suffered from discrimination or bullying, or who are experiencing the general hardships of being an athlete, enduring all the physical pain and stress that comes along with them.

  I personally have experienced and suffered from these things as do millions of girls around the world (some who might be reading this now), and if you are one of those girls, then this book is dedicated to you. I want to help girls and prevent them from quitting the sports they love because of the reasons listed above. And to do that, it starts with you!

  You are the person in control of your decisions. You are the only one who can motivate yourself to get up and continue. You are the only one who can show the world who you truly are, and how great you are at something you are deeply passionate about. I believe this book will guide you to the correct mindset and path that I found and followed to help me continue to play my favorite sport—soccer. I hope this book will be proof to the discouraged girls out there, that you can do it and you can accomplish your goals and dreams if you work hard enough and fight off all of the issues you face along the way.

  There aren’t many books out there that empower and inspire girls to continue to play the sports they love, and I hope this is one of the few that does so, or at the very least, raises awareness to the issue of girls being discriminated against for playing the sports they love.

  Thank you from the bottom of my heart.

  Taleen Khleifat

  Amman

  June 2016

  Chapter 1

  Baby Steps

  From the moment I first jumped out of my crib, my parents knew I was destined to be an athlete. As a toddler, I used to jump out of my crib after a nap instead of waiting for my mom to come and get me out of it. I then learned to climb things, and would climb on anything and everything in the house; any parents’ nightmare.

  I also would always love to run around the house and play, and was given the nickname “Danger” because of the constant bruises and scabs I gave myself from doing so. Unlike a normal child, I rarely watched TV and would be more interested in playing outside or around the house. I didn’t need a screen to be entertained; I would get more satisfaction from being active.

  The days before jumping out of my crib, I liked to play in my baby bouncer. As a baby, I would continuously be jumping up and down, spinning, and walking around in my baby bouncer, and by continuously—I mean all day. There was never a moment where I was not moving around or doing something active. I loved playing around and never seemed to get tired. Even when I was forced into a stroller, I still did not stop moving. I would flap my hands and kick my feet constantly. My mother always worried because she had to always watch me to make sure I wouldn’t hurt myself.

  Despite always playing around in the baby bouncer, one of my favorite toys as a baby was the simplest of them all: a ball. I used to always play round with it—kick it across the house and then chase after it screaming, “Ball!” It was one of my favorite things to do and I never seeme
d to grow tired of it, even now.

  At the age of four, when I first attended school, my teachers could not deal with my hyper activeness. They always encouraged me to do physical school work, like building blocks, hoping they could tire me out. Unfortunately, it never worked. They even advised my mom to buy me a yoga ball, so that I could sit and move around while doing my homework.

  Being this active as a child hadn’t seemed so normal, but it was only later that my parents realized that what I really needed was to play a sport.

  Chapter 2

  The Little Girl Who Fell in Love with the Game

  The first time I saw children play soccer on a lush green field, I knew that this is not only what I wanted to do, but what I was meant to do.

  “Mom I want to play soccer just like these kids. Can you please put me on a soccer team?” I would say in my beguiling voice.

  “Yes, sure sweetie,” reassured my mother.

  “Promise?”

  “Promise.”

  Nothing but a smile appeared on my face knowing that something I loved and longed for would approach soon. I spent every moment preparing myself–whether it was by watching soccer matches or practicing in the backyard with my father.

  Every day after school, I would be outside playing soccer, while waiting for my dad to come home from work. I would be kicking the ball ahead of me as my little feet would catch up to the ball, only for me to kick it again. I then quickly learned how to shoot and to dribble properly with the help of my dad. He definitely knew lots of different tricks that I wanted to learn.

  “Look at the goal before you kick,” my dad would say in a commanding manner. I would glance at the two cones placed in my backyard used as an outline of a goal and shoot with all my might.

  “When you look at the goal sweetie, you can see and decide exactly where you want to shoot, because if you shoot without looking at the goal, you won’t know where you shot,” he would say.

  Because I was still learning, I would constantly keep my eyes focused on the ball, in order to not lose control. Because of this my dad always had to remind me to look at the goal before I kicked.

  Besides teaching me basic soccer techniques, my father would also want to entertain me by doing cool tricks with the ball. One of the things I was most fascinated by was when he would kick the ball up so high in the air that the ball seemed to disappear into the sky. The ball would then fall back down in the exact same place it was kicked from.

  I grew eager to learn such cool techniques and moves; therefore my determination grew at the sight of every new move I was introduced to.

  When my dad would come home from work, he would enjoy spending almost the entire night playing and teaching my brother Sami and me new skills. He realized Sami’s interest in the game was nowhere near as great as my own. He saw my love for the sport and also saw my determination to learn how to play. Sami would only play for a couple of minutes, whereas I would stay outside for hours wanting to continue to play. I was an avid learner for “football” and nothing was going to stop me. I started out knowing nothing about soccer, but then began to learn about it very rapidly. My understanding of the game drastically increased when I was first introduced to professional soccer during the FIFA World Cup in 2006.

  I flew to Jordan for the summer and spent most of it watching the World Cup and keeping track of the best teams and players from the different countries. I had my heart sent on France as my favorite players, Zinedine Zidane and Thierry Henry, played for the French National Team. For nearly the entire day I would sit in front of the little television set in my uncle’s house watching game after game. My parents would always hear me scream “GOAL!” or “YES, COME ON SCORE!” and even “NO, WHY DID YOU DO THAT?!” They would then come rushing in to the room to check to see if everything was fine, and would just shake their heads when they saw me yelling at the television.

  When there were no games to watch, I would go outside and play soccer with my cousins. All my older cousins were very talented as soccer was a huge part of the Jordanian culture. I learned a lot from them, and they were surprised that I, as a girl at such a young age, could play so well. We couldn’t communicate because I could not speak Arabic, and they could not speak English But we didn’t need to communicate with words, we were able to communicate with a ball between our feet.

  As each day passed by, the World Cup Final soon approached. I watched France make their way to the finals to oppose one of the best national teams—Italy. I sat down in the living room with all my family members including cousins, aunts, and uncles, and we surrounded the TV ready to watch the game. Its suspense filled the room and I could feel the anticipation creep in. Most of my family wanted Italy to win but I had my heart set on France from the very beginning and was counting on them to take the Cup. I was hoping that my favorite players Zidane and Henry would help lead France into victory and help them achieve a dream every soccer player has.

  When the match began, I felt the nervousness and exhilaration spread throughout my body all at once as if I was one of the players stepping onto the field. Within the first seven minutes of the game, a foul was conceded by Materazzi—one of the Italian players, in the penalty area, giving France a penalty shot. Excitement and joy overcame me as I saw Zidane take the penalty shot, because I knew he wouldn’t miss it. As soon as the whistle blew, Zidane shot and the ball bounced off the underside of the cross bar and right past the goal line. I cheered and screamed out pure happiness together with millions of people around the world who were cheering for France, knowing that they were now in the lead. I then began to feel very confident that France would win the World Cup.

  After ten minutes had passed, Materazzi then tied the score for Italy with a header assisted by Pirlo’s overhead cross. My anger rolled off like a tidal wave, and I started to scream. Frustrated, I stomped out of the room for about a minute. I then came back and sat down and continued watching the game not wanting to miss any moments. Throughout the entire game, I was sitting on the edge of my seat (literally), just waiting for France to score another goal. Later, I heard the final whistle blow with the score remaining 1–1. I knew this meant that extra time would be given, and I only prayed that France would score a goal.

  Within the hundred and tenth minute, Zidane was given a red card for head-butting Materazzi as there had been some sort of conflict between them throughout the game. I was devastated that my favorite player was being sent off, but my sadness soon dissolved when the extra time for the match ended. I knew they would be able to score the penalty shots and win the World Cup.

  The first shot went to Pirlo, an Italian player. He unfortunately scored, putting Italy in the lead. Up next was Wiltord from France. I crossed my fingers and prayed he would score. Next thing you know, he tied the score. After Wiltord we had Materazzi shoot. There was no doubt that he was one of the best shooters, and as expected he scored on the penalty shot. When it was France’s turn again, Trezeguet took the penalty shot. I was so focused on the game that I could feel my own heartbeat grow louder and louder after every waking moment. He shot and missed, making me rage with anger. I had only hoped that De Rossi from Italy would miss his penalty shot in order to equalize the score again. De Rossi made the shot, and my temper only worsened. Next up was Abidal, one of the French players who was an excellent shooter. As expected he scored a goal allowing France to catch up. The Italian player Del Piero took the next penalty shot, and he, like every other Italian player, scored. It was then Sagnol’s turn, and I hoped that he would score giving France another chance for a penalty shot. Thankfully, Sagnol did score. It was now completely up to Grosso; if he scored Italy would win, if he missed, it would give another chance for France to shoot and win. I glared at the TV waiting for the moment he would miss. All my cousins didn’t think France could win; however I tried to convince them (along with myself) that Grosso would miss the shot. The whistle blew signaling his opportunity to shoot. He kicked the ball, and to my horror, it went into the goal.
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  Within a split second tears started streaming down my face, and I ran into another room. As the tears were pouring from my face, I started to kick and scream out of frustration. I didn’t want France to lose; I had wanted them to win the World Cup. I ripped off my Zidane jersey and blamed it all on him. If he didn’t get that red card, he could have still played in extra time and scored another goal. He wouldn’t have left his team short of one player during a final. My mom soon entered to see where the screaming was coming from. She thought I had been murdered, because my screams were so horrible. She couldn’t believe I could get so worked up over a match, but she didn’t understand my pain. To her it had seemed so unusual that someone could get so upset over a game, especially a young child.

  I sat in the room and cried for a couple of hours, and within those hours my mom tried to cheer me up, but nothing or no one could. I was way too upset and it would take a while before I got over it. Well, even now I am not over it.

  Chapter 3

  First Kick to Forever

  After the summer passed, school had started again. I was now in second grade, and during the second grade, my mom finally decided to put me on a soccer team. It took three years’ worth of excitement and desperation to finally come to the decision that what I needed was a team to play on.

  Before I joined a soccer team, I wasn’t the brightest child in school. I didn’t believe in myself because of my lack of confidence. All my friends and classmates would excel in class while I stayed far behind.

  “I can’t,” I would cry.

  “Yes, you can. Stop complaining and just try,” Mrs. Janet Jefferson would say. “I know you can do it.”

  Mrs. Janet Jefferson known as “Mrs. J” was one of the toughest teachers I have ever had. She would always push me to complete my class work as I frequently didn’t. I would never feel comfortable completing my class work because I knew for a fact that I’d get it wrong. I felt like making mistakes was something that I had to avoid, but only until later did I realize that you can learn from your mistakes and that is how you prosper.