“MERE-A-D,” he yells with his heavy Ghana accent.
Loveless Acka, a former Milwaukee wave player, was my soccer coach. I rolled my eyes and refused to listen. I am Meredith not “Mere-A-D !” Does he not understand there is a “ith” after the “d?” Every time.
With the attention span of a unmediated first grader with ADD I grab a soccer ball, raise it above my head, and with all the force of a fifth grader, hurl it. Straight at a teammate’s head.
“MERE-A-D wanna run!?”
It’s not that hard to say. With the roll of my eyes, I back sass. “No, Love! Say my name right!”
Silence. Intensely staring at me al…of a sudden…he laughs. What? But I didn’t complain. Why? There was no running for Meredith today. Or as Love would say—Mere-a-d.
It’s another day of soccer practice and I’m ready to face Love. At least I think I am? Love begins to speak…THWAP! A ball is chucked at my head. This means war. My friend and I don’t care that Coach is trying to talk. Mid throw I hear “MERE-A-D wanna run!?”
There he goes again. Of course I can’t keep my mouth shut.
“I believe you mean ‘MerediTHHH…you know with a ‘th’?”
Quickly I put a on little girl grin. He tilts his head. “
Isn’t that what I said? Mere-a-d, right?”
Oh, Love…no. Why are you the one person who can’t say it right!?
Until Love I never really appreciated my name—Mere-a-d. Meredith, sounds like an eighty year old woman with 50 cats. No one has ever had a hard time saying it. I don’t have to correct people when they it. Because it’s usually right. Love can’t seem to say it. I get he has an accent…but that doesn’t mean the “th” doesn’t exist. Him ALWAYS saying my name wrong was what brought us together—I think?
Six years pass. I grew up and matured. I had forgotten about my soccer season. And Love. My best memory I had of him was how he couldn’t pronounce my name. Mere-a-d. I don’t care anymore that he can’t say it right. It makes me laugh. I hadn’t played soccer since then and either did my friend that I ALWAYS got in trouble with. One day we happened to bring up how Love was impossible to understand. I see a man with a Ghana flag around his neck a few weeks later. It was Love.
“Love!” I scream running towards him.
He stops mid stride and looks at me with eyes as wide as the sun.
“MERE-A-D? YOU GOT SO BIG!”
He remembers me and still can’t say it!? While hugging me I start laughing. All the memories of fifth grade came back. I seemed special to him. In a way. To him I will always be—Mere-a-d.