About March Madness

March Madness always makes me think about my team a little bit.  I think of team basketball camps on college campuses, where we could always talk Coach and Brenda into a late night run to TCBY. I remember quick feet, finding a ball and a wall, and a trash can at center court.  I think of team dinners and Hoosiers, and I long for a ball in my hands.  When we first stepped onto the Hearnes Center floor, the bleachers were empty.  Back then, they always cleared out the crowd after the morning session, and made everyone come back in if they wanted to watch the afternoon.  We were sitting on the floor stretching when they opened the gates back up.  I will never forget watching the flood of what my grandma always called "Atlanta Blue" pouring into row after row after row.  It looked like a stampede.  I hoped nobody got in their way.  As I looked more closely, I realized I knew each one of them.  We all gawked at the steady stream of fans with our mouths hanging open, and I remember thinking, "This is why my kids will grow up in a small town."

Well, now I am entering into the second basketball season of my life.  I am the one buying the shoes, the bag, the knee pads, and driving all over this country to deliver my children to practice and games.  I find myself struggling to parent these little athletes in some ways. My love for basketball runs pretty deep.  I cried over a particularly painful loss my junior year.  For three days.  I want my kids to learn the valuable lessons that can only be learned from team sports, and I really want them to love to play. But I don't want them to consider each loss a tragedy.  I had planned on helping them do a better job of balancing life than I did. I want them to remember to spend time with family, church, and other things like piano, hunting, and fishing.
 
When I started practicing with my kids, however, it somehow awakened the athlete in me. I cannot seem to stop myself from making sure they are shooting a layup correctly, or showing them a dozen different dribbling drills.  I cannot prevent myself from breaking out my gold basketball charm and sliding it onto my favorite necklace on game days...a tradition I started almost twenty years ago.  I also cannot keep my advice to myself on the way to and from games...and occasionally at halftime.  When Madison came home with her first Hornet jerseys, sporting my number, I might have cried a little bit. Like I said, my love for basketball runs pretty deep.  Almost as deep as my love for those who supported me, and those who I shared those times with.  Oh, and I LOVE March Madness!