Wednesday, October 10, 2012

Basketball

I remember my dad singing. Saturday mornings while cooking scrambled eggs. I'd hear him whistling or singing old gospel hymns. Or in playful moments, singing silly cheers from his high school basketball years... "shoot em high, shoot em low, shoot em in the basket, that's where they go!" And to the opposing team: "Go back, go back, go back to the woods cuz you ain't, you ain't, you ain't no good!" My dad was a "star" player in his high school basketball days in small town Ellsworth, Michigan. (And by small I mean, population 483!) When he was running late to a game, the coach would drive the bus to his house to pick him up. Which would totally give me incentive to be late to all the games. Recently my 5 year old son asked if he could get a basketball. He hasn't expressed much interest in sports but this is his first year in school and some of the kids bring basketballs or soccer balls to play with during recess. Starting school has been a hard adjustment for him - the long days away from the comforts and familiarity of home. Recess seems to be particularly hard for him to figure out how to join in and he'll mostly just walk around the playground. There has been some improvement since we have had "practice recess" with mommy and daddy and sister during the weekend. And now, a request for a basketball. Hope in a basketball. We jump on it and immediately go out together to buy one. It's been awhile since I've held a basketball in my hand. But it will always remind me of my dad. The echoing thunk thunk thunk of the ball on concrete in the school yard. And playing hoops in our driveway as a kid. After all these years, 10 years now, there is sadness when I hold my son's basketball in my hands. But this weekend, I look forward to playing basketball with my son at his school. And teaching him his grandpa's cheers.