It’s Wednesday, May 10th. The Varsity Girls’ soccer team is taking on Noble Street Charter in our first Regionals match. I walk onto the field, chaotically carrying a red engraved gavel, a bouquet, and a silver star pinata. 

For all four years of High School, the Model UN program has always been my space. From almost Greece trips to Best Delegate awards- I have found meaningful success at the podium and dais. I was a star in this space. The parts of my high school experience that I hold closest, and dearest to my heart are the hours I spent devising resolution names from a seat in the Harris Center, at conferences trolling GBN’s matching backpacks and notepads, in Jeanne Barr’s room planning extravagant trips and exciting debate topics and laughing and beaming with pride from the debate podium navigating complex global and political problems with donut cliques & witty puns. 

I was always the little girl who spent recess coloring inside, instead of running around on the field. I’d still, ten-plus years later, prefer a day well-spent with a book over team sports and sweaty jerseys. And don’t get me wrong, I wish I could say that a staple of my childhood was athletics, but I can’t.   

A few weeks before my first day of field hockey pre-season freshman year, I stood on the Francos’ field, watching Ana show me how to hit a field hockey ball. That freshman season, I sat on the JV bench, playing scarce, if any, minutes. I noticed a similar pattern as I played soccer freshman year, and even field hockey and soccer my sophomore year. 

Flashforward, to Friday, May 12th. I find myself walking a fine line: leaving my Model UN senior night early enough to not be too late for the Latin Regionals game. As I warmed up on the field, told not to expect to start the game, I found myself staring at my silver star pinata balanced up on the field’s fence and my red gavel sticking out of my duffle bag. I felt a sharp pain. I wanted to go back to the Harris Center. I wanted to yell DECORUM at Drew again. I wanted to devise crisis arcs with Sadie again. I wanted to chop off Jack’s other leg in the made-up Model UN world. I found myself asking, why did I leave early? Why did I leave a celebration of my success to sit on the bench? 

I’ve always felt like sports were spaces that were impossible for me to thrive in. Even after summers spent running every day, and afternoons spent consulting with coaches, the work and hours that I put into sports rarely seemed to play out in my favor. I came into High School, surprisingly, timid. For the majority of my life, I thought I wasn’t “good” at anything. Standing so confident, and so passionate about so many different things four years later, it’s hard to look back. It’s hard to remember the pain of my insecurities- the pain of not hearing my name on a starting line, the pain of being told “You’re going to be a bubble this year,” and the pain of defining success on such a narrow playing field. 

But as I stood on the field, that Wednesday my senior year, in the “sub” circle for the 4th year in a row, I found myself teary-eyed. Not because I was upset that I didn’t get to play, but because I was grateful. Grateful for all of the incredible places where I COULD thrive, find success, and take up space, like Model UN.  

There’s a Parker phenomenon that if you find yourself a part of one of threeish branches of extracurriculars (Student Government, Model UN, your publication of choice), you belong to this insider clique. As a loud and proud member of this “trifecta,” I resent the idea that the people who belong to these organizations and spaces should feel bad about their success because it’s “exclusive”. These intimate, dare I say academic, circles are where some people, for the first time, feel like they belong, myself being one of them. I’m so incredibly grateful to have had places where I learned what it felt like to belong. 

As I begin to decide what parts of Parker I want to hold onto when I leave, I don’t know where sports stand. But what I do know is that I’ll always come to visit Jeanne Barr’s room when I come home. I’ll always sit in the auditorium and watch the Winter Choir concert or Spring Musical if I’m in town. I’ll always read SCOUT and reach out to the Editors. Because THESE are the places where I felt important. THESE are the places where who I am was always embraced in so many exciting, wonderful ways. 

To anyone who needs to hear it: You exist. You matter. You are important. You are allowed to take up space, and you deserve to be celebrated. 

You know you love me, 

Rania Jones