Instead of Going to College, Weinryt Is Kicking Around

Three things a parent never wants to hear:

* “This is the police, your child is under arrest.”

* “This is the principal, your child is in detention.”

* “Mom, dad, I’m not going to college.”

Charlie and Karen Weinryt never got a call from the police or the principal.

But when the couple’s 18-year-old son, Jared, told them he was putting college on hold, their reaction was, “Wow.”

Thousands of dollars had been spent to educate Jared at Chaminade High. Now he wasn’t going to college because of the most improbable of dreams--he wanted to be a professional soccer player.

No chapter in Dr. Spock’s child-rearing book could prepare parents for this moment.

It was time to encourage or discourage their son.

“We decided to let Jared go and follow his dream,” Charlie said.

While Jared’s friends are attending classes at Harvard, Wake Forest, USC and Michigan, he’s home in Northridge rising at 6 a.m. to work out three times a day in preparation for a March soccer tryout in Holland.

Jared keeps two lists in his bedroom. One contains the names of people who think he’s crazy to pursue soccer; the other is a list of those who believe in him. The skeptical list is shrinking and the believer list is growing.

“When he was a sophomore, he told me, ‘Coach, I’m going to be a professional soccer player,’ ” said Jeff Young, basketball coach at Chaminade. “And I believe him. He’s the hardest-working, most dedicated kid.”

At Chaminade, Weinryt lifted weights with football players and ran laps with the basketball team. No one knew what to make of the 5-foot-6, 155-pounder who trained constantly until he gained the physical skills needed to become an elite soccer player.

“I know what has to be done,” he said. “It won’t happen magically.”

He didn’t start playing club soccer until he was 15. He was an All-Mission League pick his senior year, scoring 10 goals for a weak Chaminade team.

Weinryt’s strength is his speed. He has been timed in 4.4 seconds for 40 yards, the kind of speed soccer coaches covet in their defenders.

Jared had the audacity to think he could board a plane to Europe and convince one of the professional teams to sign him.

He raised $2,800 and traveled to Holland last August for a tryout. His goal was to make an under-19 youth team that paid a minimum salary of $135,000 a year.

“I worked my butt off,” he said.

Scouts apparently took a liking to him, but he tore ligaments in his left ankle and came home unsigned. That’s when he switched to Plan B--putting college on hold to train full-time for a second soccer tryout.

“I have no doubt I’m going to make it in the next year,” he said.

There is a stubbornness that runs through Weinryt’s blood, perhaps inherited from his grandfather, Aron, who survived the Nazi death camp at Auschwitz and lost a wife and daughter to the gas chambers.

His grandfather’s ordeal inspires Jared to never give up in the face of adversity.

“You know if people can survive through stuff like that . . .,” he said.

Jared’s training is intense. From lifting weights to swimming to endlessly dribbling soccer balls, he’s doing everything imaginable to build his body and skills. He studies players by watching hours of videos from the 1998 World Cup.

His dedication was evident on a recent Saturday, when his father asked him to go to the movies. Jared declined because he had not completed his weight-lifting workout.

“Come on, Jared, 10 minutes won’t hurt you,” Charlie said.

“Yes it would,” Jared said.

Seeing his son’s commitment to soccer encouraged Charlie to support Jared’s decision to postpone college.

“If he was just home vegetating, that would be a different story,” Charlie said. “But he’s so dedicated. He’s so focused. My parents were immigrants. Sports to them was not a serious thing. ‘You should be a doctor, lawyer.’

“Karen and I wanted to give Jared something else--go for your dream. It’s going to be very tough. He has to be better than the Europeans.”

Many times in the past year, Jared has heard people tell him, “You’re crazy.”

“No one says it anymore,” he said.

*

Eric Sondheimer’s local column appears Wednesday and Sunday. He can be reached at (8180 772-3422 or [email protected]