Alexa, the second I started to read this, I thought of
you. I love your growing love of the game, but I love you more. I
love seeing the look in your eyes when you finally made that finger roll in the
living room on the 5 foot goal. I love hearing the ball bouncing around
the house all day. I love when I hear you watching the Kyrie Irving top
100 crossovers. Most of all, I love that I get to share my first love
with you and how much you love it and appreciate it.
I hope the game is as good to you as it was/is to me. The game will give back to you what you are willing to give to the game. I didn't write this myself, but I could have written it for you. You can find the original version here. Daddy loves you.
To The Little Girl in a Jersey,
You are
eight years old, and in love. The smell of scuffed hardwood helps you breathe
easier, in a way you never knew you could. The sound of squeaking shoes makes
your ears perk up and gives you a rush of adrenaline. You're learning to do
math behind the snack table, tallying up two dollar Gatorades and five
dollar hot dog meals. The teammates that you are on the court with will now
become your friends for life, and if you end up in a new place later on down
this long, winding road, you can always find a court and a ball to ease your
mind.
Cherish
it now. You have fallen in love with a sport which will teach you dedication,
tenacity, and pure discipline. Your parents will support you and send you to
countless tournaments, give up their birthdays and mothers/fathers day to watch
you play. They may even drive two hours to watch you sit on the bench. Don't
get discouraged when you don't make varsity, or when you stop growing at 5'
3". Don't get discouraged when you have that one coach who doesn't believe
in you, because it will happen at least once, and it will not be easy. Don't
get discouraged because all of this will make you stronger. That coach who
tells you that you can't do it will become the single reason why you should.
You will have to learn to pick yourself up at a young age, because that's what
sports teach you, to keep going.
In five
years, when what you love becomes political and every game becomes the most
important game you'll ever play, remember why you love it. Remember that
feeling of water finally meeting your lips after five sets of lines. Or the
excitement of your first three-pointer in a game. Remember the look on your
face in that photo where you got your first medal. Remember looking up at the
obscenely high hoop, wondering how the high school girls shot the ball
effortlessly, with the type of arc to give anyone goosebumps.
In 10
years, when it's all wrapping up, stand in the middle of the court and breathe it
all in. Breathe in that same smell of scuffed hardwood that now is covered with
your blood, sweat and tears. Remember the memories of your scuffing shoes, the
same shoes that have been on your feet as you play through breakups, tragedies,
pain, and hardship. Remember your teammates, the ones who told you that the
missed free-throw was OK, and the ones that helped you navigate through defense,
and through life itself. Remember what it feels like to be eight years old and
in love with the game
Remember
to never lose yourself in the process of fighting for the game you love.
