I’d barely heard of basketball
But then at Washington Grade School
our sixth grade class formed a team
Bobby and Dick, Tommy and Gundy,
Kenny and Jim, also Roger
My parents never noticed
But my grandfather, my dear Swedish grandfather
insisted that I join the team
I cried, I complained
Procrastinated, sulked
Scared out of my wits
But Grandfather forced me
The smallest kid in the class
All the others, tougher, more confident
We played at the Presbyterian Church
I sat at the end of the bench
…as far from the coach as possible
Praying he wouldn’t notice me
I played a few minutes in the middle of each game
I don’t recall that I ever scored
one — single — point
Or even touched the ball
After the season was over
my grandfather put up a basketball hoop
over the garage door in our driveway
My brother Steven was my practice partner
I was four years older, six inches taller
But Steven was as fierce as a wolverine
We played horse, twenty-one, and one-on-one
Dodging, spinning, rebounding
Shooting free throws from out near the oak tree
Dribbling the ball on the loose cinder
After many weeks
we’d make a few shots
The snowstorms arrived in late fall
We shoveled our court and played on the ice
Shedding our coats in the freezing temp
Slipping and falling but bouncing back up
After sunset we brought out a desk lamp
Hooked it up to the extension cord
And aimed the light toward the hoop
We’d stay out till bedtime
Sweaty, exhausted
Happy, excited
In junior high our group played in the gym at lunchtime
Then I’d go to the D.A.R. Boys Club after school
Deeny-Boy was my practice partner
I dreamt I might play for the Minneapolis Lakers
If only I could perfect my twenty-foot shot
This dream, like most others, never came true
But still I learned many lessons
How to win and lose with humility
to move on from painful losses
That playing by the rules is important
That success takes a long time
and hard work
I owe a big debt to my grandfather
We always need help
to figure out how best to live our lives