My Franklin Soft-Spike

Around the time that I was 13 or 14 I received a very important gift. This gift would be with me for the next 12 years. I do not remember who gave me this gift but I am forever grateful. I was given a Franklin Soft Spike volleyball;neon green and pink so that it could easily be seen at dusk, Franklin Soft-Spike branded in thick black letters across the front, Made in China across the back in small print. It felt soft in my hands; some sort of synthetic durable cloth outer layer and it had more give to it then other volleyballs so it was easier on the forearms. However, this also seemed to give it less force when hit which never ceased to annoy me. I presume that because of the cloth outer layer and it's pliability it would make a sound like a dull thud when hit. The sounds of the ball making contact with anything seemed muffled.
The ball that sits in front of me now is dirty, worn, used, aged. The cloth has shifted and is no longer even close to being lined up with the air needle hole. The fabric is almost like worn suede now to the touch but is completely intact--well made. When I hold it up to my nose it smells of old clothes, not a bad smell, just an old smell. When I look at this ball I am reminded of several times in the last 12 years.
My first memory was around the age of 14 or 15. My mom had bought me a volleyball net(as I was an avid player at school) and we had set it up near the edge of our property. We lived on seven acres in the country so this was pretty far from the house. My mother and I did not get along at all and by that time in my childhood/adolescence I was already severely depressed, abusing OTC meds, contemplating suicide, cutting, binge eating and crying myself to sleep most nights. My home felt like my prison and no one knew that I was doing or feeling any of the above. Almost every weekend that I remember I would take my Franklin Soft-Spike volleyball out to that net and serve and serve and serve. I would be out there for hours--sometimes it would get dark on me. I would hit that ball as hard as I possibly could over and over and over, crying, audibly cursing my mother, my life, God, everything. I remember doing this until I got my first job at Wendy's where I had to work weekends.
My next memory comes from Terre Haute, Indiana at my Dad's house. I have a little half-sister that is eight years younger than I am and she looked up to me. She knew I played volleyball so she told me that she wanted to play too. I think that I was about 16 or 17 by this time. So every time I would drive over to visit my Dad from then on I would bring my Franklin Soft-Spike volleyball and I would work with my sister on basic skills outside;bumping, setting, rolls. Those were good memories. I don't know if I had anything to do with it but she is currently 17 and still plays volleyball for her high school and other leagues year round.
My memories with my volleyball are hit and miss after that. Every time I would move to a new place I would pack up my ball and think about how it had helped me so much in the beginning and the great times I had with my sister.
Now that I have a son my Franklin Soft-Spike volleyball resides in his toy box. He has no idea how old it is or how much it means to me. To him it is just another ball. A few weeks ago my husband, son and I were outside playing with my volleyball, laughing and having a great time. I realized just how far I have come since receiving that gift.