I traveled to the fourth floor at the gym today-usually the second floor is as high as I go because the sauna is there. Up here, though, is a beautiful brand new gym where impromptu basketball games happen all the time. Mostly the big guys mix it up, but if I wish an invitation is extended. Grabbing a random basketball rolling around, today I just took some practice shots at an empty basket. Felt so damn good to move on the court. I love playing basketball.
While growing up, my older brother would practice for hours on the outdoor concrete court just across the street from our house. We all had our go-to outlets that youth need to cloister themselves independently away from the family. Younger bro’ discovered surfing when he was 13-years-old and I launched into reading. But I also learned basketball, too.
At first I was truly crappy. My dribbling was so weak everyone stole the ball from me. I could barely shoot. And passes were always intercepted. That is, I played like a girl. Thankfully, while learning I played against boys. Looking back I realize that’s how I got so good. Ooops…those bragging rights are more for you to assert, yet I’ll say that during most playing time, I can at least create flow on the court–a pass here, a steal there, and sink a bucket or two.
During elementary school, my energy on the court was feisty and I remember a referee giving me a technical foul–in fifth grade. This is when a player throws such a temper tantrum that the other team gets to shoot a free throw as a penalty. Angry is what you could call me. But I played outdoors all the time and over the years it’s true that finally I got game.
Still, I was absolutely surprised when in eighth grade I made varsity–a team level reserved for juniors and seniors in high school. Our family moved in 1978 to Bangkok, Thailand, where all three of us kids attended the International School of Bangkok. Startled that I made the basketball team, I was even more taken aback when we traveled to Singapore and Hong Kong for tournaments. What a blast we had on that team and the older players resented but also took care of me.
I can still hear my older brother bouncing the basketball outside on the driveway pavement, the sound echoing inside to the living room. That was the year John Travolta’s smash hit film “Saturday Night Fever” came out and the Bee Gees were alive–or, at least they titled one of their song hits, “Staying Alive.” A small boom box played these disco tunes while geckos chirped late into the humid night and a basketball kept pounding, pounding. Sometimes older bro’ practiced too much and would find it difficult to play in the actual games. Mostly this happened because of the deceiving Thai heat–relentless, thick, and damp. I remember the only time not sweating was in the shower.
That was a year we would make many diverse friends. Over the years I often recall their names and faces. For example, the current United States Secretary of the Treasury Timothy Geithner was a lanky kid who also played basketball on the same boy’s varsity team as older bro’. Even compared to the diminutive Thai players, Tim was petite. He would often need to circle the key as a point guard rather than mix it up with the big guys down low. I saw his name several months ago and wondered if my memory of this Tim matched the real-guy in finance. One day I watched a youtube clip and within a minute, I knew the two were one and the same. Physical gestures stamp so indelibly on our memories of each other. I recognized his instantly. Similar to how my muscle memory kicked in pronto today when I started shooting hoops. Took no time at all for me to remember how to play.
A friend from that year in Asia found me on Facebook the other day, sending me a note to confirm I was me. Turns out I am. What a delightful surprise to hear so many catching-up life stories from her. We travel so many directions in life that to look way, way back and see the house with the basketball court outside–one in California and another in Thailand–creatively helps to recognize those moments were just as real, too. Foggy behavior doesn’t erase that. When I missed a shot today here in San Francisco and the rim clanked grimly, I could hear the rim on the Bangkok hoop sag, too, even more so, and this familiar sound transported me in time to right now, enjoying the memory and then letting go, so the very present sweaty moment felt like I was playing for real, more real than in a long time.
