One minute I was looking at him from ten
feet away and the next thing I knew he was practically sitting on my head. The
only reason my brothers asked me to “play” basketball with them was so they
could dunk on me, but I guess I didn’t really mind it—any excuse to be included
in whatever my older brothers were doing I took advantage of.
It was a Thursday night and we were on W
Lexington Avenue. We had just passed the huge, brick house that stood about 100
feet from the road with the horses that roamed freely within the white picketed
fence which meant we were just a few minutes away. It was an unusually silent
car ride from our house to the school. I
can’t believe she’s making me do this. I wish she would just turn the car
around. As we pulled into the parking lot I instantly felt my stomach
twisting into a knot. My mother pulled up right in front of the gym doors and
said, “I know you don’t want to do this but you’ll be glad you did and you’ll
thank me for this some day. Just go have fun and remember to be positive; your
attitude about it will determine how well it goes. I love you!” I remember
thinking as I got out of the car, this is
going to be awful and embarrassing, there’s no way it could be fun.
The only times I ever played basketball
was with my two older brothers but that was just outside in the driveway, and I
would hardly call it basketball because it resulted in me either getting dunked
on or my shots getting blocked. I was a gymnast—that’s all I ever did and
that’s what I was good at; I loved it. But I had to stop doing gymnastics
because of an injury. I remember the day I had to tell my coaches; the sky was
covered with cloud, and the sun was fighting to make itself seen. When I saw
the disappointment on my coaches faces I couldn’t help but feel a bit of doubt.
Is this really what I want to do. No, but
it’s the best thing for me to do.
“I’m sorry to see you go. There’s not
many girls that I’ve enjoyed coaching as much as I have with you.” Thanks Coach. As if I wasn’t already
reconsidering my decision. “It’s a shame though. You are very talented, and
I saw so much potential.” And that just reconfirmed
my decision.
I
remember feeling incomplete—like there was a missing piece from the puzzle when
I walked out of the gym for the last time. I had spent four hours a day, six
days a week in that gym. All of my best friends came from doing gymnastics
together, and now I wouldn’t be spending everyday with them. What was I going to do with my life? That
Was my life.
.
. .
“Why don’t you try basketball? I think
you would like it,” said Mother noticing I had been sprawled out on the couch
for the past hour and a half bored out of my mind. “You would be really good at
it, too!”
“Even if I wanted to, it’s too late to
start playing basketball now.” It was true, I was in sixth grade and just like
I had been doing gymnastics since I was fours years old, everyone playing
basketball had been playing since they were little and would be way more
advanced and skilled than me. I couldn’t
possibly catch up to the skill level they are at.
“I bet you would pick it up really fast.
You’re athletic and you already know some of the basics from playing with your
brothers.” Yeah, I know how to stand
under the basket so they can jump over me to dunk, and I know how to catch the
ball when it drops out of the net to throw it back to them. “Don’t let the
thought of not being as good as the other girls to begin with keep you from
trying it.”
I’m a very competitive person so when I
do certain things, I don’t like the feeling of being the worst person at it.
The thought of having to start at the bottom again was not particularly
motivating. It’s not that I didn’t like basketball, I just wasn’t very good at
it because I had never really practiced it. I wanted to play but I wanted to be
the best at it from the beginning.
“Alliecqwea! Wanna come shoot some hoops
with me?” No not really. “Come on,
I’m surprised your butt hasn’t fallen off from sitting on it so much lately.”
“Ha. Ha. Real funny Deddy.”
A few weeks later, after we had finished
eating dinner, my father summoned me to his office where he and my mother sat.
There was an eerie feeling as I walked into the room; I could just tell I
wasn’t going to like what they had to say. Nonetheless, I had predicted
correctly. “We have spent some time thinking about it and agree that you should
try basketball. If you try it and don’t like it then you don’t have to continue
it but you have to at least put a valiant effort into it.”
The first thing I see when I walk into
the gym is everyone gathered together, talking, laughing and playing together. Great, they’re all really good friends and have
obviously known each other for a long time and I don’t know anyone. As if I
wasn’t already nervous about not having friends. They’re all dressed in
basketball shorts, practice jerseys and really nice basketball shoes. Me? What
was I wearing? Chunky, old basketball shoes and my brother’s old basketball
shorts with one of his old YMCA basketball t-shirt.
“All right, everyone grab a ball and line
up on the elbow, we’re gonna start practice with some elbow shooting,” instructed
Coach. What’s the elbow? And what is
elbow shooting? I had no idea what was going on and I seemed to be the only
one. But was that the worst it got? Nope. The rest of the practice consisted of
all the girls knowing what was going on and me tagging along behind them trying
to figure it out. Imagine being three years old in a huge grocery store
wondering around in complete panic and terror because you lost your mom and
everyone around is staring at you. It was awful and humiliating. It took
everything in me to hold back the water in my eyes from falling down my face
the whole practice.
“Hey sweetheart, what happened?” my mom
said as she saw the tears weld up in my eyes as I got in the car.
“I
don’t like basketball, and I’m terrible at it,” I sobbed, letting out the tears
because I couldn’t hold then back any longer.
Well going to just one practice and not
liking it wasn’t enough to convince my parents that I had put a valiant effort
into it and to let me stop. In fact, I had to finish out the season before I
could make my decision.
The next few months were really hard for
me. I could see in my mother’s soft blue eyes that is hurt her to see me
struggling—she just wanted to make everything better. She wished she could take
away the pain and frustration and give me the skills. But she and my father
knew me better than I knew myself. They knew I wanted to play, they knew I just
had to put in a lot of practice and they knew that once I did, I would be
grateful for it.
.
. . .
Friday, February 27th, 2015-
Senior Night. Tonight I will play my last home basketball game of my high
school career. Memories come flooding back to me as I look at all the senior
displays, consisting of photo collages from the very first year I started
playing, trophies and metals. I’ve come a
long way. I wouldn’t be the person I am today if it hadn’t been for my
parents pushing me towards what I didn’t know I wanted at the time. What a
blessing it was being chosen to represent the All-County Team, All-Conference
Team and chosen as the Most Valuable Player. Yes, by working hard I got to the
point where I didn’t feel behind in my skill level compared to everyone else
but that’s not even the best part. Through my journey, I fell in love with the
sport that I used to despise because I wasn’t any good at it. I learned the
meaning of hard work, dedication, team work, persistence, time-management, leadership,
and so much more. Basketball has helped
shaped my life.
“I’ve enjoyed watching you play over the
years. I am tremendously proud of the class and character you’ve exhibited on
the court and of the heart and passion you always played with.”
“Thank you, Mom and Dad, for giving me
something I’ve grown to love and something that has taught me so much.”
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