Tommy and Basketball

We didn't give much thought to basketball until Jenny's persuasion finally took and we signed him up. It helps immensely when his best friend Isaac is on his team and WWU's men's assistant coach is also HIS coach. Can't get much better than that, really. I had a bit of perma-grin on the Saturday Jenny called me from the game (I had to work that morning) to tell me Tommy was "on fire" and shooting and making up a storm. My proud-meter was flickering pretty bright that morning.

The other Saturday Jenny also asked if Tommy wanted to be ball boy at the WWU game. It was amazing to walk into Carver Gym, this time not as a young girl checking out the boys, but holding hands with her young son. Pretty wild, really, and I couldn't help but look around at all the people that I didn't know, instead of trying to find my group of friends cheering in the stands. Instead of finding Dan and Dave on the court, there were a bunch of young boys out there that really didn't look older than 17.

Tommy met up with the guy that was in charge of the program, and after a bit, he went his way and I mine. Just as I got settled in my seat about 5 rows up, I looked down to find Tommy under that basket, scrambling after loose balls, yet at the same time with puckered up lips and big eyes. "Is he crying?" I asked John, trying to figure it out. Without waiting for an answer, I headed back down. The nice lady monitoring to make sure no one went out onto the court allowed me to get closer to Tommy, who crumbled into my arms in tears. There on the side, with warm ups all around, here was my little boy crying big tears. He couldn't find me in the crowd and panic set in for him. I assured him that I wouldn't leave and showed him where I was sitting, then when the tears quickly dried, he hurried back to join his fellow ball boys. Poor little guy! What an overwhelming experience for him. He pulled it out, though, quickly figuring out how to operate the broom that they had to use to dry up the court for timeouts. Jenny and I hung out down by the court after halftime, just to make sure the boys stuck it out and finished the game. It was a unique experience for us as well, just different being in the role of parent. Pretty surreal, actually. Pretty surreal. Late that evening, after questioning Tommy on his evening, I asked him if he'd ever want to do it again. "No," he said, shaking his head. "Why not?" I asked. "Mom, I want to play basketball, not sweep their floor." Enough said, and understood completely.