My dad used to take us to play basketball at a court in Yorba Linda a few nights a week. It was a good time generally, but my dad’s competitive nature ended up embarrassing us more often than not.
Sometimes it was a mild embarrassment, for instance he would frequently over exert himself until he threw up, then sprint back onto the court insisting he was fine as vomit still dribbled down his chin.
Hell of a way to get space in the post, really.
Other times it was severe.
Hell of a way to get space in the post, really.
Other times it was severe.
There was a guy who played there now and again with one hand. He had a nice shot, but it took him awhile to load up because he had to balance the ball on his hand and steady it with his stump before firing off his shot. It was a bit of an operation and people gave him space.
That is until my dad played with him. We were all watching this guy load up for an outside jumper and to my horror I see my dad streaking across the key. He swats the ball off the guy’s hand and runs down the other way for an uncontested layup.
Stunned silence.
Stunned silence.
The game continued. A few possessions later someone hit the guy with a pass again and he started loading up for a shot. My dad came flying out to meet him, snatched the ball away and ran down the other way for another fast break.
I wanted to disappear.
I wanted to disappear.
A guy on our team was like “hey man, that’s not cool.” And my dad insisted “He wants to be treated like everyone else.”
I mean…maybe? I honestly don’t know, but I’ll never forget the expressions of everyone on the court when my dad swatted the ball away and took off.
I mean…maybe? I honestly don’t know, but I’ll never forget the expressions of everyone on the court when my dad swatted the ball away and took off.
My dad and my brothers were also banned from a Lutheran church basketball league for playing, and I quote, “prison ball”, so maybe I shouldn’t trust his idea of fairness.
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