The Boy Was Shooting Into A Trash Can So I Pulled Over And What He Said Destroyed Me

The boy was shooting a ball into a trash can and crying while he did it. That’s why I pulled my Harley over. Wasn’t planning to stop. Had a long ride ahead.

But something about the way this little kid was throwing that worn-out basketball at a rusted garbage bin, tears streaming down his face, made me kill my engine.

He couldn’t have been more than seven. Skinny little thing in an oversized Lakers jersey that hung past his knees. No shoes. Just socks on the cold pavement. And he kept shooting at that trash can like his life depended on it.

“Hey buddy,” I called out. “You okay?”

He turned and saw me. Six-foot-two, 240 pounds, covered in tattoos, leather vest with patches, gray beard down to my chest. Most kids would run. Most kids would scream for their mama.

This kid walked right up to me.

“My daddy said he’d buy me a basketball hoop if I made a hundred shots in a row,” he said, wiping his tears. “I’ve been practicing every day for three months. I finally did it yesterday. A hundred shots. No misses.”

“That’s amazing, buddy. So why are you crying?”Continue reading…