Kids

This weekend I bought a basketball hoop after years of threatening to do just that. In my life there's been very few periods of time where I didn't have a hoop of my own or at least have one within walking distance. And, in fact, we do have a park less than a block away with a hoop, but I'm tired of sharing it with the general public. They have no respect for the court. And they have no respect for therapy that is shooting hoops. The solitude and quiet and freedom to escape even for just a little while--that's what hoops has always been for me.

After a complete day of putting that damn thing together, we finally wheeled it out of the garage last night and onto the street so all the kids in our circle could play. Before long we got a game of PIG going, but we had to truncate it to PI because it was supper time.

Ah, supper time in the summer when you're playing ball. I hadn't had that feeling of not wanting to go inside for supper in a long, long time. As my wife scolded us to come in now, that feeling was just reinforced.

It reminded me of the little boys who live behind us. They play baseball almost every day, and I've often heard them squeel in protest plenty of times when their moms call them in. And damn if those kids aren't good, too. I should say boys and girls, because I see a little sister or two making plays. That reminds me of my sister and other girls in my neighborhood growing up who could play just as well and better than the boys, and they were tougher.

It does me so much good to see those kids outside playing together, and not just playing, but playing sports, riding bikes, making cities in sandboxes, hiding and seeking. It makes me appreciate even more the small town I grew up in and the friends I had and the endless games we played and invented and taught other kids how to play. It also makes me appreciate the period of time I grew up in in which parents could let us run free, knowing that someone was always looking after us. I, unfortunately, don't have the same luxury for my kids. So, seeing a bit of innocence live on, even if only in the form of kids playing baseball behind my backyard, is heartening. It's those kinds of things that I hold on to to keep my hope breathing.

By the way, I won that game of PI, narrowly turning back the 11-year-old, smack-running kid across the circle. Like the cat in "White Men Can't Jump" said, "You talk a whole lot of ying for not having any yang." Something like that, anyway. Well, this kid is full of ying, but his body hasn't grown into his yang. If and when it does, I have no doubt he'll let us all know. In the meantime, like someone told me once, it's good to be humbled once in awhile. Ha!