(This is for the Slice of Life challenge for March, hosted by Two Writing Teachers. We are writing each day about the small moments in the larger perspective … or is that the larger perspective in the smaller moments? You write, too.)
The youngest of our three boys is the only one still playing basketball, and his youth basketball team — which struggled at the start of the season as individuals on the court and then found its groove as a team working together near the end, just as you would hope would happen — had his first playoff game yesterday.
It was one of those sit-on-the-edge-of-your-seats game that exemplifies youth sports. The game was up and down, and then went into overtime after a gutsy player make two foul shots by the other team. Actually, he missed the first one because someone on our team shouted when he was about to shoot, and the referee rightly gave him another shot, and educated our player about sportsmanship. (We had a long talk about that kind of behavior on the way home. It was not my son but still …)
In overtime, our team’s defensive energy hit overdrive, and my son hit a basket with less than a minute left that sealed the game, as we won by two points. He was giddy with emotion, but suitably humbled by the experience. He did none of the bragging and fist-thumping that you see in the NBA at times.
Even at home, when we told his older brothers — who have played on high school basketball teams — he spoke low-key about it. They were congratulatory, which was good because their attitude toward him as the younger brother can often be unpredictable. He both wants their attention even as he worries about the Big Brother-itis that can come along with being the youngest.
Peace (it’s a win),