My basketball fate

Pretty much every boy that I grew up with was obsessed with basketball. And I mean obsessed. It's soccer in Brazil or football in the US. I wasn't one of them. Basketball never looked like something would enjoy. My dad, however, tried to instill in me a love for basketball. He played with little me, but he said I kept avoiding the ball. Signs showed early, huh? He even took me once to a professional basketball game. I tried to enjoy the live game, but I just could not get myself to do it. I hope my dad didn't notice that, but it's more likely that he probably did.

The first time I took basketball a little more seriously was in high school when it was included in our curriculum for physical education. It was in high school that I actually got the ball in the basket, and I told my dad about it as soon as possible. He was, of course, pleased about it. At the same time, I also started playing basketball with the kids in church who were my age. I even played an actual game against another group a few times. I'm sure my dad was very happy about that. I was pretty proud of myself too. At least I get to say that I have a played a game of basketball.

Come next year, we had an Youth Olympics in church. But it wasn't just the ward (or unit...for non-member readers) that I was in, but the entire stake (a bunch of units) that put this on. It was going pretty well until the second to the last day when I was supposed to play darts for my ward. I was never good at darts, but then again, nobody in my ward really was good at it. We weren't expecting to win, so I volunteered to do it just for fun. When I went to the event, my youth leaders told that they had someone take my spot to play the game. It would have been okay if they had given me a notice before or if they didn't have me expecting to do it in the first place. The guy wasn't even in the ward. I got mad, although I didn't show it. I later found out that they would need guys for basketball. Discouraged, I of course made sure I wouldn't play basketball for them. I took off to a nearby mall to cool off. See ya suckas! I sure hope you lose the game, I thought as I walked away.

I didn't show up the next day of the Youth Olympics, although my dad told me that I should. My dad was out of town on that day, so I got away with it. Although it started with darts, I never played basketball ever again since then. I still enjoyed other sports though, like badminton and volleyball, but I felt like my slight disliking for basketball elevated to an actual dislike.

Eventually, I wasn't really mad about that anymore, but I decided once and for all that basketball isn't for me. I just don't like it. Maybe I'm not supposedly as manly as most guys. But then again, that's more of cultural norm in the Philippines.

My dad tried to get me to like basketball again when we moved to the US. Every morning, my family would wake up to play at the basketball court across the street from our house. We didn't play a game, but he taught me how to shoot a ball in the basket, using proper form and technique. Apathetic and obviously unskilled, it took me maybe three weeks before I could get 30% of my balls in the goal. It was so hard for me to learn, which confirmed further that I wouldn't even come close to genuinely liking basketball. Although I did do it on my own eventually, I still sucked. As winter came in, the days got colder and we couldn't play at the basketball court anymore. My "gained skills" receded, and when I started playing again, it was as if my dad never taught how to shoot the ball properly.

Last night, while playing basketball with my friends, I realized why I didn't like basketball. I don't like that there's too physicality, and too much going around, and too much chaos, at least for me. As I practiced some shots, which turned out to be mostly awful, it was as if I could hear my dad in my head coaching me as I take every shot. I felt that I had to do it for him.

Sorry dad, I could never be the basketball player I know you want me to become. It's not like I didn't try. *shrug*