Part 1

My appreciation for the game of basketball began with Kobe Bryant, Los Angeles Lakers, and my son, Elliott.

Elliott was an active three-year-old toddler and was all about Matchbox cars, Winnie the Pooh, and balls.  In our small living room on cold winter nights, we would play soccer with a soft ball or toss it to each other from across the room; he’d even play ball with our kitty. For Christmas that year, Santa brought Elliott a Little Tikes basketball set.  Both of us knew nothing of the game, but put a ball and a hoop in front of a toddler like him and a rookie coach like me and off we were. My boy took to it right away, making his first real point, a mere two feet (which must have seemed like yards to him)  from the hoop, just days later.   He twirls around and looks at me with awe.   Big brown eyes filled with amazement and accomplishment.  Come springtime, Elliott was playing with the older boys (6, 11, and 14 yrs.) next door on their hoop over the garage.

The sounds of the ball bouncing on the pavement or the garage door (a miss, no doubt) and the whisper of a ball rolling away brought me an inner peace that I cannot duplicate anywhere or anyhow in my life. Heaven knows I try when I feel depression kicking in severely. These kids shared joy for the game that always made me smile.  I would watch them play from my upstairs window as I stood on my bed to get the best view.   My son learned so much during this time with them, not just about the game of basketball, but about life.

If I had to pinpoint the life lessons my 3.5-year-old learned during those few months, I could sum it up as follows:

Age Diversity – he was a first-hand witness to other children’s ability to accept all different types of ages within a common thread of a game, skill, talent, or ability.  They never dismissed him as too young to play with them or too inexperienced to join their game.

Independence –  Elliott, at such a young age, didn’t need me to go out on his own and discover who he was or what his passions were.  In this case, he just needed a push – that Little Tikes basketball set.

The inevitability of failure – which leads to:

Hard work and Determination – I cannot count the hours he spent inside our living room, outside or next door, perfecting his shots.

As time went by, we moved out of state, and, as it happens, our neighbor had a basketball hoop out by the street.  No one played with it; its original owner had lost interest. My son was in first grade.  Every day he was out there bouncing that gritty, orange ball, aiming for the hoop or backboard. Hour upon hour, he was out there.  He played in the dark by what little light was drawn off neighboring front door lights or a passing car (luckily, we lived on a dead-end street).  First thing in the morning before I could even hear the ball in my unconscious sleep state, he was out there.  Elliott never tired and, at times, found that even meals were an interruption to his playtime.  The din of that ball hitting the pavement or backboard still didn’t tire me.  It soothed me.  Don’t get me wrong; there were times I wish he spent the same amount of enthusiasm on something other than basketball.  Homework, for one.  But he was a Gifted and Talented child and excelled in school when need be.  I pushed him hard on perfection in school.  I suppose this game was all about himself pushing hard for something he could control and call his own.  This didn’t slide past me.  Everyone, even a first-year elementary student, needs some control of their life. I knew it, and his outside passions made me proud.  He excelled in school, sports, and conversation at such a young age.

Elliott practiced or played (I don’t know what it was) with a fierce expression of determination that washed over his face.  Again and again, Elliott would bounce, aim and shoot.  Hours upon hours.  There was nothing he loved more.  He could have cared less about what he was missing on t.v., how dark it was getting, or that no one else was playing with him.  He just practiced HIS game.

Somewhere between that fall and spring, Elliott discovered the NBA on t.v.  We had a small television at the time. I recall vividly Elliott sitting on the floor, legs crossed, and watching his first basketball game.  He looked studious, taking in everything about the game: jump shots, player’s moves.  Months later, he had even unconsciously memorized what the announcer said, “This copyrighted broadcast of the National Basketball Association may not be re-transmitted, reproduced, re-broadcast or otherwise distributed or used in any form without the express written consent of the NBA”!  The first time I heard about the Los Angeles Lakers was when he was sitting in front of that tiny screen. I was making dinner and asked him what he was watching. Very seriously, Elliott replied, “la-la lakers”!  I walked into the room and took a peek and read the ticker on the bottom of the screen, which displayed the team/score.  The ticker said, “LAL.  I will never forget the laughter inside of me as I read “LAL” on the ticker and automatically realized it was “sport” code for Los Angeles Lakers.

First grade.  What a year.  What he learned in that year about basketball was phenomenal.  He had become a huge fan of Kobe Bryant, #8, who would be his basketball mentor for the rest of time.  Kobe would also become my hero, as well.  Handsome, beautiful smile, dedicated to the game, his fans, family, and an inspiration to my little boy.  Often, I found myself watching the Lakers with my son, a subtle bond we shared.  Since the time he was able to turn a television on, Elliott was always told to ask me if it was okay to watch children’s programs. I did not allow him to watch anything that contained violence or guns.  His go-to question to me  became, “Is it okay if I watch kid’s tv?”  Once Elliott developed an interest in basketball, instead of asking me for permission to watch a “kid’s show,” his newest question became if it was okay to watch “basketball.”  The phrase, “kid’s show” I never heard again.

One year later, we moved again, one street over.  Our neighbors asked him if he wanted the basketball set to bring to our new home.  We carefully and very slowly drove that huge thing over in our friend’s small truck, the speed bumps being the trickiest part. Before the first box was unpacked or his bed was even made, Elliott was out front of our new home endlessly practicing his shot.

Life for Elliott was all about basketball.  For many years all my son wanted was basketball jersey shorts and shirts, tracksuits, wrist bands, headbands, shoes, basketball anything!  He had a clock, patches, posters, magazines, books, tee-shirts, knick-knacks, swimming pool hoop, and ball.  I even managed to score a larger-than-life-sized store display of Vince Carter for his tiny bedroom – proud mommy moment!!

With each passing year, Elliott’s love for the game grew more fierce.  He formed loving bonds with his great-uncle and my father watching the game.  Weekends spent over at his great uncle’s place, eating turkey sandwiches, swimming, and conversing about the game, the players, and the Lakers.  Elliott would watch the game with his grandfather (who knew my father would watch basketball???).  He formed life-long, significant relationships with friends and their parents because of the game.  Elliott biked to the YMCA every day during the school breaks and on weekends.  He played with anyone with any skill.  He would play the game all day until it became too dark to bike back home.  I cannot imagine the hours logged on the Y-court during those years.  He rarely came home for lunch during the day.  He never called to check in with me.  I knew where he was and what he was doing.  I didn’t need to worry about him during those days/early evenings.  He was a trouble-free kid whose mind was only on one thing:  basketball.

He learned discipline and hard work paid off.  He went to basketball camp, tried out for his high-school team, and, unfortunately, failed; this broke my heart.  I even intervened with the high-school coach when he was a sophomore and asked him to give Elliott another chance to try out for the team.  A risk on my part  – a mother, crying the blues to get her son another chance.  It was something I had to do, and I’ve never regretted it.  Even though Elliott did not make the high-school basketball team, he never showed signs of sadness or even slowing down on the game.  My son was gifted, from his great-uncle, private lessons with a former four-year college basketball coach.  He persevered, practiced, and attacked his goals with his heart and body.

During this time, I learned so much about Elliott and life.  I admired his emotional strength.  I would have given up had I been him.  I would have cried that I didn’t make the team.  I would have been mad at “Mom”  for calling the high-school coach up and pleading Elliott’s case – begging for another chance.  His ambition for a life of professional basketball never faltered.  It drove him deeper into the game.  It kept him all the more focused on his goals.  He, in my mind, became a man that year, and I became in awe as his resilience, determination, and love for the game.  Kobe and the Lakers kept him going  Watching and hearing about Kobe and basketball allowed me to realize that it’s the mentality that gets you in the game.  My precious son has Kobe’s mentality.

Elliott went to FSU.  He did not make the team, but again, that did not deter him from his goals.  I recall visiting him at college during Christmas break, and he gave me a tour of the deserted campus late one night.  This was the first time I had ever seen a professional basketball court up close, albeit through large glass doors. A few overhead lights softly lit the court.  The floors glistened like still water; the lights illuminated the maple wood like stars in the night.  In my mind, I could hear the background rhythm of sneakers squeaking against the hardwood as the players suddenly stop,  dribble, twist, or spring into the next step.   The bouncing ball chimed into that unmistakable song of basketball I so loved.  Heading towards defeat or victory,  the roar of the spectators never deafened the sound as the basketball made its quick journey through the net.  I could see the sweat pouring down the athlete’s face.  I could see the expressions on their faces – so close were the players. For that brief moment in time, I was lost in my son’s world.

Fast forward to a 26-year-old Elliott, and his passion has never once, not once, faltered.  Basketball impacted Elliott’s world, and my world forever.  Elliott has succeeded in playing for a semi-pro basketball team. The team’s coach was a former professional basketball player.  Because family is his priority, Coach gave up the chance to play for a Premier Basketball team. The sacrifice he made ultimately led him to create a minor league basketball organization based out of Florida.  The teams travel within the state, playing against other semi-pro teams.

During the Spring of 2019, the teams that made up this league competed against each other for the most exceptional opportunity of a minor league basketball team.  If all went well, my son could play in a three-day international tournament in Shanghai, China, against other international teams:  Australia, Japan, Philippines, Italy, Korea, UK, Spain, Mexico, Canada.  The Florida semi-pro team won the competition and represented the United States of America.  Upon hearing the news from my son, I cannot put into words the pride, happiness (and anxiety) I had in the name of basketball.  My boy was headed overseas in August to continue his dream.  Unfortunately, the Florida team lost against Mexico in the sixth seed.  Again, the loss did not stop my son from going forward (although he is a point guard, lol).

Elliott came back home to America and persevered.  He trains harder, smarter, longer, and with unwavering enthusiasm.  That is my son.  He never gives up.  It’s about improving his skills, physical and mental training. The Kobe Mentality.  It is about winning the game, ambition, competition, focus, respect, footwork, staying-in-the-zone, confidence, preparation, time, sacrifice, pain, learning your weakness and adjusting, learning to become better at the craft and being better than the day before,

What it’s not about is the money (although I’m sure it is a motivator) fame, personal relationships, or travel.  Those are the perks that come along with the game.

I recently received a message from my son that maybe it was time to move on and get a job that pays real money.  My heart skipped a beat reading that.  He has the rest of his life to do whatever comes next after basketball.  His time is not up.