Eight guys showed up this morning for basketball practice, which is honestly more than I thought I’d get on the first day. While it’s not as many as I wanted, eight dedicated players are enough to make a bad team really good.
Decan Flynn, however, is not looking too great out there. I call out to him, “Flynn, over here!”
He throws his ball to another guy on the team and shuffles toward me. “What’s up, Coach?”
Taking in his scruffy appearance, I tell him, “You look like you didn’t sleep at all last night.”
“I didn’t sleep well, that’s for sure. My parents and older sister were going at it for hours.”
“Your older sister is a senior, right?”
“Yeah. Margie. I don’t know what she did, but my parents can’t stop yelling at her. They even took her car away.”
Remembering my own adolescence, I tell him, “Sometimes that’s for the best. It’s tough when you get to be a junior and senior. You feel like you’re ready to take over your own life, butthe truth is, you still need all the structure you did when you were a kid.”
He nods his head slowly. “Our curfew is nine o’clock on school nights and midnight on the weekends. I wish my parents would lighten up a little on that. I mean, if we can keep our grades up why shouldn’t we be allowed to stay out later?”
“My mom used to say that nothing good happens after midnight,” I tell him. “She said that the more tired you get, the worse decisions you make.”
“But in Margie’s case, she’s only got one more year until college and then she can do whatever she wants. You’d think they’d want to see what kind of person she’s going to be.”
“I’m not a parent yet,” I tell him. “But if it was me, I’d want to give my kids as much structure as I could and for the longest amount of time in hopes of creating better habits.”
He shrugs. “I suppose that’s one way of looking at it.” Pointing at the court, he adds, “I better get back out there and keep shooting. I’ve been practicing a hook shot I saw on one of those old YouTube clips of Kareem Abdul-Jabbar.”
“You’re talking about his skyhook?” I ask in shock. Kareem was seven feet two inches tall. Decan is barely five ten. Yet who am I to shoot down his lofty goals. I’m a firm believer that if you can’t dream it, you’ll never have it. “Go on,” I tell him. “I’m here if you ever need someone to talk to.”
With a smile and a renewed spring in his step, he says, “Thanks, Coach.” Then he runs back out onto the court.
As much as I loved being in high school, I remember the frustrations of the age. I used to roll my eyes at my parents so often they threatened to send me to military school. It seems that somewhere in your mid-to-late teens, parents get stupider and more provincial. They don’t smarten up until you’re in your twenties. It doesn’t occur to us until around that time that it’s not the parents who got smarter.
I pretty much let the guys do whatever they want to do for therest of the morning practice. Starting tomorrow, when I hopefully get a few more, I’ll get them scrimmaging.
At eight fifteen the gym door opens and Allie walks in. She looks pretty in her jean skirt and sweater. I like when she wears her hair out. My fingers tingle to find out if it’s as silky as it looks.
Walking toward me, she says, “I thought I heard something going on in here.” Is it me or is she doing her best not to make eye contact?
“I laid it out for the guys yesterday,” I tell her. “I told them they weren’t going to get any better unless they were willing to put in more time. I think they also need some space away from the girls.”
“I get that,” she says. “I’m pretty sure I couldn’t convince the girls to come in before school anyway.” With a smirk, she adds, “They’ve got their hair and makeup to do, you know?”
“I think Leah and Jackson might have a little thing for each other,” I tell her.
“I’m not sure what Jackson is thinking,” she replies, “but you’re right about Leah. She likes to give him heck in English class, which is a sure sign she’s trying to get his attention.”
I suddenly remember all the things that Allie used to do to get my attention. The most obvious was when she would come over to our house with her sweater stuffed. I’m not sure what she used, but whatever she used gave her a Dolly Parton kind of silhouette. Instead of teasing her, I say, “Jackson should be so lucky to have a nice girl like Leah like him.”
Allie’s lips curl inward until they form a straight line. “Maybe, but boys that age don’t generally look at girls who are younger than they are.” Her gaze shifts to the floor like her shoes have suddenly become very interesting.
“High school boys don’t know squat about love,” I tell her. “They miss out on a lot of great opportunities.”
Allie’s gaze finds mine as her eyes narrow. “You aren’t by any chance speaking from experience, are you?”
“I might be,” I tell her honestly. “But then again, it’s possible for an age gap to be too big to make any sense.”
Allie crosses her arms over her chest and assumes a warrior pose. She looks quite menacing. “If you’re talking about me and you when we were in high school, you can stop it. I know I made a spectacle of myself over you and I’m not proud of it.”
“It was sweet,” I tell her. “I should have been nicer to you.”
