Watching YaYa’s basketball games has been a nail biting experience – and I’m not one to bite my nails. The level of competitiveness has long passed the “fun-to-fun” stage leaving YaYa on the sidelines for much of the game. Unfortunately, when he does go in, he’s inadequately warmed up and out of synch with the rest of his teammates. Subsequently, errors happen.
My thoughts went back to when BoBo was the same age. Aside from BoBo seemingly gifted with sporting ease, BoBo had a deal of time playing the competitive balls-out basketball with his dad, older brother, and often times many other guys that just hung out around our house. In contrast, YaYa has only me: his mother whose historical aversion to any-sport-which-utilizes-a-ball is justified many times over. I’m good for about 30 minutes of H-O-R-S-E, or Around the World, but that’s it. I basically…SUCK.
When I arrived in the parking lot to watch YaYa’s last basketball game, I was relieved to have the season finally come to an end. While I feel it is 110% essential that I be there, I must admit that I have (in previous moments of nail biting frustration) wondered why.
I glanced at my stubby little fingernails (with fresh manicure already chipped off) and sighed. Perhaps now they can grow back. As I walked toward the gym a woman stopped me to ask for directions to the hall. I pointed to the darkened building. She looked at her flyer with frustration. I tried to encourage her, “Are you early? They’ll probably be here in a few minutes.” She nodded and went back to her car to wait. I entered the gym and was met with stares. I was late but, still. I wondered why everyone seemed to be looked at me.
“Did you see it?”
“He made a basket!”
“WHO made a basket?”
“It was just a minute ago — right at the buzzer. I may have been a 3 pointer even.”
I sat down, a little disappointed that I’d missed his moment of triumph by just minutes. It probably happened while I was reassuring the lady that she not everyone is 20 minutes early meetings. Maybe my goodwill helped YaYa in some energetic way. Yeah, that’s it. *sigh* Would it be too much to hope that he would do it again – so his proud mom could see it? I sat and waited for the 3rd quarter to start and hoped he’d was still slotted for more playtime.
The game started up again and much to my surprise, YaYa was on the court. I watched as the players stormed up and down the court, stealing the ball from one another in frenzied-like fashion. I held my hands in prayer-like manner front of my mouth, and held back both my words and my urge to bite my nails. The ball was passed to YaYa, and he was quickly surrounded on all sides. Somehow, he managed to slip it past them and the ball arrived safe in his teammate’s hands. The shot followed… SCORE!
More franticness followed and once more the ball was in YaYa’s hands. He turned towards the hoop and flung the ball up, up, up. All eyes followed as the ball soared through the air and passed through the net with a beautiful SWOOSH. THAT, my friends, is NOT why being there was important, but it sure made being there special. Finally, much like my 9 years of chasing my BQ, all of YaYa’s efforts have been rewarded.
It. Was. AWESOME!