Last night, my school's girls basketball team put up a good fight. Despite their best efforts, they fell short of a win in the sub-state game. I sat in the stands, cheering, whispering silent prayers, and smiling as I soaked in the atmosphere. I was taken back to my last basketball game played in high school.
I love basketball. There is no doubting that my heart has always had a soft spot for the sport. I pride myself on having knowledge and skill (maybe not WNBA skill, but I've got it). I am the fan that moves around in the bleachers while shouting, "Get your hands up on D!" I know all the cheers, and I'm not afraid to stand up and chant right along. It's one of the most comforting environments; it makes me feel at home.
My senior year, my team made it to the sub-state game. We played our hearts out. The team was just unstoppable. They were putting up shots that we had a hard time defending. I remember the goosebumps running up and down my arms. I remember the smell of the locker room, the taste of the tears that fell as the game came to a close. Most of all, I remember walking into my kitchen at the end of the night. I found my parents, with open arms, waiting to congratulate me on a good season. Mom said, "You're done!" I looked at her, tearing streaming down my face, and replied, "I wasn't ready to be done." They embraced me, and my dad assured me that it was my best game of my high school career.
He wasn't wrong. I left my heart on the court that night, as I'm sure many of my students did last night. The memories will last forever for them, just as they have for me.
No comments:
Post a Comment