When the hoop was finally up, Marcus grabbed his worn-out basketball and ran to try it out. His first shot swished through the net. He screamed with joy.
“Mama! Mama, did you see that? A real hoop! A real basketball hoop!”
Marcus kept shooting. Making most of them. The kid had talent. Real talent.
“He’s good,” I said, sitting down next to his mama.
“Jerome practiced with him every night after work. No matter how tired he was. He said Marcus was going to get a college scholarship someday.” She wiped her eyes. “Now who’s going to practice with him? Who’s going to teach him? I don’t know anything about basketball.”
I watched Marcus sink another shot. Watched him pump his fist and look up at the sky like he was showing his daddy.
“Ma’am, I live about forty minutes from here. I don’t know much about basketball either. But I know about showing up. If you’ll let me, I’d like to come by sometimes. Shoot hoops with Marcus. Make sure he’s got someone to practice with.”
She stared at me. “You’d do that? For a kid you just met?”
“I don’t have any kids left, ma’am. My son passed thirty years ago. Never got to coach his little league team like I planned. Never got to teach him to drive or ride or any of the things dads are supposed to do.”
I looked at Marcus, still shooting, still smiling. “I can’t get those years back. But maybe I can give some of them to your boy. If you’ll let me.”
“Smart man.”
“The smartest.” She smiled sadly. “He’d be happy knowing Marcus has someone looking out for him. A strong man who shows up when he says he will.”
I’ve been going back every Saturday for eight months now. Marcus and I shoot hoops for hours. His game has gotten incredible. Kid’s got a future if he keeps working.
But we don’t just play basketball. I Continue reading…
