It’s a dark, cold rainy night where raindrops slap our face like sand pellets. Dressed in gym clothes and clutching basketballs, we dodge invisible puddles racing to the truck. The world seems small in the darkness that comes with shorter days. We drive across town to a neighborhood Brian used to know well. It’s the part of town where Brian’s grandma took care of him, he was popular and one of the few Caucasian kids around.
There is a lack of streetlights and the road narrows to the width of a good airplane seat. We laugh when the truck jumps from hitting potholes, as we make our way into a large, dark parking lot. Before us shines the beacon of this diverse community – a Christian grade school with a basketball gym.
As we step through the large steal doors to the gym, the sound of bouncing basketballs roars through our bodies, followed by a symphony of squeaking shoes. Yells of “Over here” echo through the room to the constant drum of running feet. These sounds make my heart race. There is nothing finer than a basketball gymnasium.
The gym is as old as I am, back to the days Sonoma County was mostly farm country. Its aged caramel colored wood floor, high water-stained wood vault ceiling and steal chairs remind me of when I was a little girl. Long wide lamps suspend from the ceiling by long steel cables, which give the gym the feeling we have stepped back in time. Before I make it to the sidelines, Brian has removed his sweatshirt and run out on the gym floor.
Brian has decided to play basketball.
His new coach, the man who holds the top scoring record in Sonoma County, greets him. He has returned to his roots and is coaching kids "from the wrong side of town". Brian is twisting inhis skin so hard from excitement I am sure his basketball pants will drop. I take a seat on one of those old hard steal chairs that were probably made during World War II, fondly known as "butt-numers".
The gym smells of aged wood, sweat and lost dreams of long ago. Behind the scoreboard is stored boxes and school supplies. I realize the gym is made from an old airplane hanger and we are on the grounds of the original Sonoma County Airport. Years ago, I took my first twin engine flight from this place.
Since
Brian is the first to arrive (because he can nag you to death to leave for practice)
the coach starts working with him on his shots. Brian's dad has arrived
and I am anxious as to how he is going to behave. I already have argued with my x over
the fact that I feel Brian is good at basketball. He is convinced this is
not a sport for Brian. My x was not a basketball player and resents the
fact I dated a prominent player back in my pre-Rich college days.
Basketball is not our best subject. At least he showed up.
He sits about 20 feet away and we both watch Brian interact with his coach. A couple of other boys arrive and they recognize Brian from his old school. Long shorts, big shoes and sleeveless shirts abound. They run up to Brian and are caught up in greeting each other. The coach runs several basketballs up to their feet to gain their attention. Brian is grinning from ear to ear.
The coach starts the boys running around the gym, while they split the court with the junior high team, who is deep in an intense half-court game. Everyone is having a good time, as the rest of the players on Brian's team arrive, with their parents pulling out a butt-numbing chair to watch practice too. Already, I can't feel the back of my legs and I am cold. There should be no question of our love for our kids.
When
each new arriving kid recognizes Brian from when he played soccer
and went
to school on this side of town, Brian is pulled into conversations,
which
result in the coach rolling many balls to him. The coach is a
nice guy
and clearly sees the bonding of his new team. He sends the boys
on more
running laps to bring their excitement down to a manageable
level. When it gets really bad, they drop to the floor for ten
push-ups. They are doing quite a few push-ups...
Much
to my x husband’s amazement Brian is making a great many of his
shots. The coach gives him praise and eyes Brian's size. He
has a
football player on the basketball team. Can anyone say
defense? My
x is drawn in as Brian finds his own sport. He isn't being a
back-stage dad. I open my latest book, dawn my glasses and begin
to read.
For
a time I am able to put aside my worries and fears and forget about
every day life. A large man comes in late with his
daughter. His son
runs out to Brian's team, and of course he stands and plants himself
right in front of my view. Since he is way bigger than me, and
looks like something from prehistoric, knuckle-dragging times, I pick
up
my chair and move over a foot. Then,
this man (who's chest is the size of a plasma TV) begins coaching his son
from the sidelines. He starts yelling and trowing his arms up...
um... this is P R A C T I C E Mr. Cavedweller. Can I just
not get away from this? Is this my sign? Can a redhead not read a book in peace??
I
glance at my x husband who is giving me the "see I am not THAT bad"
look, then switches to the "dear God you aren't going to say something
to him" look. I try to re-focus on my book but this mans yelling
is starting to piss me off, so I get up and go to him, gently tap his
arm and say, "Hi I am
Catherine, Brian's mom ... so you are a coach here?" My x is
looking at me with this "sh** now me and sumo wrestler man are going to
get into a fight because I am going to have to save your ass" look, but
I feel I am handling this fine. The other parents are grinning at
me. He responds, "Uh no ma'am I no coach". "Oh
really?" I continue, "Because I know how much everyone hates it when a
parent
coaches from the sides - we do have chairs if you would like one" I
smile and point to the stack of nasty medal chairs.
"No, is ok, I
don't need one, thank you" I turn and go back to my seat.
He turns around and surveys all the parent sitting quietly behind
him. He takes his daughter, grabs an extra basketball and goes to
a far corner to play with her. Problem solved.
My
x looks at me, grins and rolls his eyes. It is just like our
marriage ... I take care of everything while he watches. Brian is
having a blast and doesn't even notice he has parents. I can
already tell he likes basketball better than football. Although, the sport
he is really dreaming of is baseball. Well of course he is ... so
I can sit near his father for thousands of games outside, in all kinds
of weather, for hours and hours and hours and hours on end waiting through 1000000000000000000000 innings. A sort of
pergatory.
I guess I will get a lot of reading done...
Until next time-
C
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