Payne Train

Kathy Payne

2023 Sports Writing Final Essay

Payne Train

I passed the artwork hanging on the wall as I ascended the stairs to the sound of Kendall’s sobs. I saw Kendall’s musical mixed media collage and Halle’s self-portrait. I passed the framed artwork and ribbons for the library “bookmark” drawing contest. Halle won first place and Kendall second, to which Kendall always retorted that her artwork was best, but Halle won because she read all the books and was a suck up. Kendall was not totally wrong in this instance. Both my girls are artistic and funny.

On Kendall’s door was the self-portrait she made in middle school—a photo of Kendall in her gym shorts and t-shirt doing a backbend was a bridge, and then there were multiple photos of Kendall walking over herself. Her large bulletin board was covered with more artwork and numerous swimming ribbons. Her bookshelf was replete with her favorite books, many of which we read out loud together to conquer her dyslexia: Where the Sidewalk Ends, A Wrinkle in Time and the entire Harry Potter series. Also, trophies from her many athletic achievements in swimming, soccer, basketball, tennis, triathlons, and volleyball. She was even on a jump rope team in elementary school. The slanted bedroom walls of the converted attic space were covered with inspirational quotes and hundreds of photos that she took over the years of all her friends and travels. This room was a microcosm of her years growing up in Atlanta.

Now twenty and in college, Kendall had finally settled into school, found her people and her new sport—Ultimate Frisbee. Best of all, she seemed happy.

*****

The crowd in the small high school gym started chanting and making the sound of a train. Chuga chuga chuga chuga woo woo! Chuga chuga chuga chuga woo woo! They kept repeating the sound, growing louder each time, as my daughter Kendall stepped up to serve. One of the guys in the crowd brought a whistle—a wooden one that sounded like the train siren going off. Unimpressed by his creativity and effort, the referee told him that it wasn’t allowed. 

Kendall was a senior and the setter on her high school volleyball team. She was an excellent server and often went on a streak that put the team well ahead for the win. She served powerfully, overhead in a quick sweeping motion with her flat hand hitting the ball with force. She focused with intention. She went in for the kill, like a lion spotting a hyena across the field.

The crowd continued to chant the sound of the train coming down the tracks. It was the first time I’d heard them do this. Chuga chuga chuga chuga woo woo! The crescendo was building. It didn’t seem to faze Kendall at all. In fact, she seemed to like it. She pounded the volleyball on the floor in front of her waiting to throw it into the air for her serve. She had a process, seven bounces of the ball in front of her and then a high toss into the air.

Right as she served, the crowd shouted “Payne Train” at the top of their lungs in culmination of their chant. She released her powerful serve, and it was an ace. She turned and winked at the crowd as she grabbed the volleyball for her next serve. The chant started its low murmur again.

I was watching, stunned. Kendall lacked confidence in almost everything else surrounding her high school experience, yet here she was working the crowd. She was a talented athlete, but as her confidence had faded, she had quit many of the sports she loved– soccer was the first to go with Kendall insisting that she had peaked in the soccer game where she scored ten goals when she was six.  Basketball was next– she said the mean softball girls’ clique on the basketball team made the team unbearable.

                                                                        *****

I remembered back to elementary school when I signed her up for tennis. I was sure she would like it. She had great hand/eye coordination and was agile. Plus, I loved tennis and had visions of us playing together. I made the fateful mistake of including her on a team of her friends who had already played together for a year. She hated it. She was furious that I signed her up for a sport where everyone knew what they were doing except her. She begrudgingly completed her season and never played tennis again.

I somehow convinced Kendall to try out for the volleyball team in 7^th grade. She didn’t want to because she didn’t know how to play. Remembering the tennis fiasco, my key persuasive argument was that no one knew how to play volleyball in middle school in Georgia. She reluctantly agreed to try out and made the team. She had a nurturing coach who understood middle school girl dynamics—something I was constantly baffled by. 

Kendall started at this private school in 6^th grade, and it had been more difficult than either of us imagined. I had a busy and challenging career that left little time for socializing, so I was never in the “moms in the know” group— a fact that I quickly realized penalized my child as well.

Kendall entered school with new braces and perfect timing for the middle school awkward stage. She made a few other awkward friends, but most of the girls at the school had known each other since kindergarten and were not kind to newcomers. One day, a girl in Middle School said “Bless You” when Kendall sneezed. However, when that girl turned and saw that it was Kendall who sneezed, she snorted derisively, “Oh it’s you, never mind.” Maybe that’s why Kendall loved the movie “Mean Girls” so much. It rang perfectly true. 

*****

I would rush to watch the middle school volleyball games from the bleachers, frazzled from work and rush hour traffic. It was clear who the popular girls were. They all sat together on the bench and cheered each other on. Although Kendall was one of the better players, it didn’t seem to help her social standing in the slightest. The cheers for her were faint and half-hearted. Still, she powered on and became better each game. She liked it so much, she asked to try out for the volleyball leagues that played in the off season, where she traveled all over the state playing other teams, staying at cheap hotels, and eating shared meals at the local Olive Garden.

My husband and I traded off who was going to volleyball matches and who was taking our younger daughter, Halle, to gymnastic meets in small towns throughout Georgia. Five hours of waiting amidst glitter and sparkling leotards to see your daughter perform for a total of five minutes where your heart stopped repeatedly from the backward flips on the balance beam or crazy releases on the uneven bars. I liked volleyball better.

As Kendall entered High School, she seemed a bit more confident, or at least not miserable like she was in Middle School. She had a very small group of good friends and found her niche. Volleyball and yearbook took up most of her time. She continued to swim, landing on the high school swim team where no one got cut. She even tried out for golf and made the team although she never played an actual match.

Looking back on Kendall’s and Halle’s years of athletics, our family spent countless hours traveling all over for practices and games, often at inconvenient and distant locations. For years we had two soccer games every Saturday in the spring and fall, two basketball games every weekend in the winter, and never-ending swim meets on Monday nights in the summer. Then, the girls parted ways into different sports, with volleyball, basketball, golf and swimming for Kendall, and gymnastics, diving and cheerleading for Halle. A constant whirl of activity.

Maybe I was trying to make up for the lack of opportunities I had to play team sports when I was young. I wanted my girls to be confident, tough and learn team dynamics, all of which I believed would help them in their future careers. David just thought it was good for them and would keep them exhausted and out of trouble. Whatever the reasons, our kids thrived and became confident through all these sports.

So, although it had been hard for me to see Kendall’s confidence shattered in this new school, volleyball grew to be kind of a salvation for her. She gained her confidence back while she was out on the court leading her team, even if she seemed confused and angry off court. The team performed well her senior season and went far in the state playoffs but lost the quarterfinal game to a team in Savannah. Kendall was selected as the team MVP her senior year—which was her crowning athletic achievement to date—better than that ten-goal soccer match from long ago. She was also selected as the most improved swimmer on the swim team.

But social life was challenging. Kendall had a best friend, Aziza, who she would see multiple times a week, but one day Aziza just disappeared. When I asked Kendall what happened to Aziza, she told me that she didn’t want to talk about it. I assumed they had gotten into a big fight. Kendall didn’t get asked to her senior prom. Every time I tried to ask about it, she erupted in tears or shouted, “Leave me alone!” A friend of hers ended up setting her up with a guy from another school she didn’t know. It was not the prom of her dreams. 

Throughout her senior year, we seemed to be in constant battles with Kendall. Nothing we did seemed helpful or right. She was anxious about everything. I tried to convince myself this was just normal teenage jitters about all the big changes ahead. College is a big change for anyone. But it seemed to be more than that and it worried me that Kendall was unhappy. The only place she really seemed relaxed, focused, and happy was on the volleyball court.

High School graduation came and went. Kendall graduated with honors and was accepted into The George Washington University with a Presidential Scholarship. She went off to college still confused and angry. I didn’t understand her constant agitation and frustration, most of which she took out on me. When people asked me if I cried when I dropped her off, I responded, “Yes, it was awful, but I know she is going to thrive at GW.” To my close friends, I was more honest, “No. I almost threw her boxes out the window and yelled, ‘Call us when you’re grateful!’” 

*****

Entering her room that night during her college break, I said, “What’s wrong?” I said this gently since she wasn’t a crier. “It’s Christmas, you should be happy.” “Megan broke up with me and I don’t want to talk about it,” she blurted out. My mind clicked forward like an old computer processing computer cards. Kendall had met Megan through her new sport, Ultimate Frisbee. “Megan broke up with you,” I said with confusion. “Mom, you knew,” Kendall sighed loudly. “Hmmm…honestly, no I didn’t. Maybe I should have,” I said, “but I didn’t.” I felt desperate to say the right thing. “I love you,” I said. “I’m glad you told me. I love you exactly as you are. And, ugh….” I sighed deeply. “It sucks to be broken up with.” Kendall laughed through her tears and snot, “Yes it does,” she agreed. 

She didn’t want to talk about it further. It was like the relief of telling me who she was had exhausted her. I looked back at the last few years and felt guilt for what a shitty mother I must have been. Was I always working too much and preoccupied? How did I not understand the stress she was going through? How did I not get that Aziza was her girlfriend? How did I miss all the signs? I cried thinking how I might have protected her better and made her life in high school more bearable. Growing up gay in the conservative south is not an easy thing to do.

I think, in retrospect, maybe Kendall didn’t need my protection. Maybe all those years of sports prepared her to fight for herself in every way necessary. To believe in herself like she had believed in her volleyball serve. Maybe she also knew that we were a team who had her back whenever she was ready to tell us who she was. 

The night after Kendall told me she was gay, I cried talking to my youngest daughter Halle telling her that I was afraid that Kendall’s life would be harder. I was completely accepting of her sexuality, but I was afraid that she would face hate and discrimination from others. As a parent, you worry all the time and want to protect your children. Yet one of the hardest jobs as a parent is allowing your children to gain their own resilience. To fall and get back up. To learn that life goes on if you don’t win the State Championship. To learn that not everyone is going to like you or who you love. Halle told me, “Mom, we all have something that makes our life harder. I’m a perfectionist and have anxiety. You’re also a perfectionist and Dad’s dealing with the scars that his father left behind.  We’ve all got something that makes our life harder, but also in the end, richer. That’s just Kendall’s something.”

******

Good comedy doesn’t grow out of the good things in life. It grows out of coming-of-age trials, growing up gay in the South, surviving sports teams, retractions of “God bless you,” and, figuring out what it means to be gay in a world that is not quite ready for you and entering in through the door regardless.  

Kendall and I talk all the time now and she is, indeed, very grateful. Grateful, funny, and brave.

Kendall just moved into an apartment in Brooklyn with her girlfriend Alicia, whom we all adore. She has a great job and does stand-up comedy in Brooklyn. I’ve been to many of her shows, and she is hilarious, even when I am the butt of her jokes. How could anyone resist the temptation, “My mom’s here in the crowd. My sister just recently came out to her as bisexual, to which my mom responded, ‘but you’re my straight kid.’” Low judgmental murmurs pulse through the crowd. “That’s right!” Kendall shouts. “Stay in your lane bitch, I’m the gay one in the family.” I laugh along with the crowd. Yes, I really did say that. She also incorporated the “Bless You/Never Mind” story into her show when the “bully” was in the audience. Revenge is sweet. 

Kendall was asked to come back to her private high school and speak with the students and teachers about the trials of growing up gay in Atlanta and how both teachers and students could be more inclusive. She’s writing a screenplay about a wedding featuring several gay characters, who are the stars of the show. She is hilarious about the trials of corporate life and could write a sitcom just on those stories alone, like when a boss who hired her was fired on her first day of work (spoiler: Kendall was fired three excruciating months later). She plays on a Brooklyn Ultimate Frisbee team. She is a happy young adult doing her best to live out her dreams in the “Big City.”

Or as Kendall would say, “In a M. Night Shyamalan twist Mom, I’m actually thriving.”