God’s Work

Still feeling weird so opted to hoop the other day. In jeans.  

I called my dad to chat about life. Lottery tickets, his car wrecks, my bum ass boredom... then I played some 2s wit some clowns. New York rules means who ever is loudest and least impressed is right, apparently. 

There were beautiful black kids all over this Brooklyn school playground. Playing ball, talking shit.  A father played with his kindergartener son in corn rows, watching the tike take terrible shots that fall a foot and a half below the rim.  I watch his dad joyfully feign disappointment.  I remember those times with my dad. A loud mouth skinny Brooklyn guy, maybe my age asks if I want to run. I say hold on. I finish my call and hang up. My shot ain’t falling but who gives a fuck... I’m from Chicago... fuck these little niggas.

Whooped that ass in jeans and a kangol.  Me and a high school kid who never learned to pass or layup whooped these grown men. Once the teammates were fighting I knew we had em.  I out rebounded, out scored and just took it. I also told the boy he was too big to be backing away from a dude allergic to gaining weight. He took the note.

Another boy, about 17 years old, said he wanted the smoke so I gave it to him. Everyone else took off so it was 1 on 1.  He was my height and about 15 pounds heavier with the legs of a man who hasn’t had sex yet (but probably lies that he has because... boys) but I’m from Chicago so fuck this big little nigga. I Whooped that ass too. 16-8. He called me Brolic. He was down about not having his shot fall and I told him he’ll be beating me in 2 months so he need not worry about it.  SERIOUSLY... the kid hit me with a hesi in on his first possession that made me skate a little so I knew I had to lock him down... But the kid was graceful.

Then he told me he was 13. I felt even better. But I also admitted I was impressed. He literally will be beating me in 2 months. He asked to run it back but leaves the court to get a drink and returns.  I tell him at 3 times his age I should not be the one with the energy. His back was hurting but his pride hurt more. On the way to Spanking him 16-5 (3 of those he scored while I was at 13) I let him find his shot. It gave me time to meditate like my knee wasn’t filling with marshmallow Fluff. We slowed down and chatted. Less competitive because we both knew I was going to win...

Then, a little neighborhood boy, aged about 8, asked to shoot around. My opponent said no, we’re not finished.  The boy then asked my opponent if I was his dad.

My little man opponent simply replied: “I wish.”

A beat.

We played on. 

He added: “I wish I could play ball with my dad.”

My chest tightened. All I could think was “don’t fucking react.  Everything is totally fucking normal,” though I was somewhere between punting the basketball across Hamilton and giving the kid my wallet. 

I thought of my convo with my own dad an hour earlier... I thought about the little boy disappointing his happy father with his bullshit j on the other side of the court. I thought about how 2 months from now, this kid is going to be an all-star somewhere... without his pops. Then I thought about his moms. Fuck.

My knees hurt but it wasn’t nearly as swollen as my heart.

Well, shit, now I gotta go back and kick his ass all summer until he beats me... no jeans next time... because fuck this little nigga.