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BASKETBALL

First Story

Playing basketball came easy for me. It was one of the most natural things I’ve done in my life! At age ten, I was short and skinny, but very fast and tricky. I could dribble the ball quickly and very low to the ground and take fancy shots – bring the ball around my back, switch hands, bring it under my leg and shoot. For my age, I was like a white Marcus Haynes (of the Harlem Globetrotters). The north quadrant recreation instructor in Parkchester (this huge project where I grew up) was forming a team to play tournament games against teams from the east, south and west quadrants. Our team was called the North Utes (named after an American Indian Tribe). The first year, we won the championship for our age group.

One hot summer day when I was about twelve, I was shooting hoops with a friend in the playground. I sank twenty-five shots in a row from the foul line. My friend just kept retrieving the ball for me. I got a little cocky and mouthed off something to him like, “This is just like dropping apples into a bucket.”

Second Story

A few of my friends and I loved playing basketball. We would climb over the recreation area’s iron-spiked fence after closing time to continue playing until dark. I would return home for supper with pitch-black hands. Before eating, my mother would ask to see the palms of my hands. When I showed her, she’d say, “Get in there and wash your hands!” I'de go into the bathroom and put just a tiny bit of soap on my hands, quickly rinse them off and wipe them on a towel. The towel became black! Back at the dinner table, mom looked at my hands again and said (a little louder this time), “Get back there and clean those hands!”.

When you're a young teenager clean hands are not a priority in your life. You just want to eat and play, similar to the behavior of cats. Although, cats are always ‘cleaning’ themselves!!! I wonder if those basketball friends of mine also went through the ‘clean your hands’ routine with their moms!

Some years ago, I re-connected with one of my basketball friends who used to climb over the iron-spiked fence with me. In an email to me, he wrote, “I don’t know why you wanted to play music when you could play basketball.” I guess he simply didn’t understand how much I loved music!