A hoop legacy
(This column was first published April 2, 2006 in the Oakland Tribune.)MY FIRST LOVE was basketball, and my dad put up a backboard for me on the farm when I was a kid. Let me rephrase. He constructed a backboard for me and welded it onto a silo. My dad could have been a good engineer had he put his mind to it; that baby was solid.
Most days, I would dribble my basketball, over rocks and a dirt road, from our house to the mill where my dad worked. There was asphalt under the basket, so I could play year round. In the winter, I would play around the rain puddles.
Each time I went to shoot hoops, I would stop and see my dad, who was always busy but always had time for me. Occasionally, I would challenge him to a game of H-O-R-S-E or one-on-one to 11 points. We laughed and made fun of each other’s ability, or lack thereof. In junior high, I turned to wrestling because of my slight stature. I continued doing it for10 years through college.
My dad was a terrific athlete in his time, and was on the track team at the University of Nebraska in his youth. Even though I practiced basketball every day and he never practiced, our games were usually competitive.
I was thinking about that basket a year ago when my dad passed away, last April 10, after a four-year battle with lung cancer. He always thought ofthe little things, whether it was driving his truck behind my cross country-running oldest brother or being a mechanic in my middle brother’s pit crew for his motocross racing.
We never had a lot growing up, yet we had just enough of everything we needed. As an adult, I can see all the sacrifices my parents made for us. There were few frills in my parents’ lives. All their time went into work, church and family.
After my son, Matt, was born, I wanted to put up a backboard in my driveway but never could. The first seven years of my son’s life, we had a downhill driveway leading to the garage. From the bottom, I would have been shooting at an 11-foot basket instead of a 10-footer.
Since my divorce, I have lived in two condos. Putting up baskets over the carport is a no-no. We couldn’t even have a portable backboard because of space. Matt and I were always out playing some kind of sport, whether it was playing catch with a football or baseball or kicking around a soccer ball. I had a few neighbors who would get out of their cars and remind us that we were playing on a driveway that was intended for driving cars. Right. Now get back in your car and go watch TV. Or else your car is liable to get hit by the ball.
Living in a condo, I did what my dad would have done: I improvised. I was smart enough to buy a condo just a few blocks from a large city park. Matt and I would walk the few blocks to the park, taking turns dribbling the ball we shared. Matt and I played endless games of H-O-R-S-E and one-on-one games to 11. Or 15 if I won.
Like my games with my dad, my games with Matt were competitive and filled with laughter. Then we’d walk home together.
Today, the only sport Matt and I play together is golf. It’s something we can play forever, although we don’t play as much as we used to. I cherish those times when we are together and still competing. Even though I should get handicap strokes, we play even up. We’re too competitive to do otherwise.
Someday, Matt will get married and have kids and have a house in the suburbs. I just know he’ll call me someday, asking me to help him put up a basket in his driveway. I’ll make sure to stay in shape for those games with my grandson.
Doug Mead has been a single parent for 11 years. He and his son livetogether in the East Bay.You can e-mail Doug at doug@parentingsolo.com.
posted by parentingsolo @ 5:00 PM
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