As I watched Tim Howard block shot after shot after shot, my mind went back to my own childhood. I recalled the many afternoons spent facing my brother as he fired shot after shot after shot at his little sister.

Knowing my brother, he might very well have enjoyed the experience of launching a soccer ball at me more than a brother should. With six years between the two of us, this qualified as an opportunity to bond.

But it was an opportunity I relished. Not only was I able to steal some attention from my big brother, but I was able to play the sport which gave me purpose and a sense of place.

Growing up, the soccer field was home. It was a place where I felt comfortable and where I felt normal. As with many organized sports, how much time you played did not depend on looks, on smarts, or on having a normal family. It all came down to your ability to perform on the field. Many fathers did not attend the games, so it was less obvious that mine also was not present on the sidelines.

It would not be hyperbole to say that I was an odd child. How odd? Think of the daughter in Little Miss Sunshine. Although my family was not as unique as her family, ours was not traditional. And that was a fact of which I was deeply aware. On the soccer field, however, it did not matter. And I did not care, nor did I give it much thought.

I continued to play soccer throughout grade school and into high school, except for a few years in London where there was no team when I arrived at Marymount. While it would seem logical that a school in London would have a soccer team, Marymount was an international school and had no team. After a lot of lobbying and griping and a fair bit of whining on my part, that changed after three years. We finally got a team. Even though we often resembled the Bad News Bears more than a World Cup squad, it was still home.

To many soccer is a foreign sport that has little scoring and makes no sense. To me, soccer was that anchor. It was the place where I could escape as a child from the realities of life, which is important for all children. But for kids who have been forced to grow up too soon, it is critical for them to find an anchor, something stable on which to hold. While my father never stood on the sideline, never saw a single shot blocked, or a single goal scored, I still believe he never missed a single game I played.