The Hoop: Sharing a Love of Basketball

Hoops and Identity

I love basketball. So much that I stopped playing it for most of my adult life. The sport that consumed many of my afternoons from June through January and dominated my summers…I let it go when I stopped excelling at it. My childhood identity, and in some ways my confidence, was wrapped up in being a very good basketball player. Stealing the ball from my opponents. Shooting three-pointers. Dishing out assists. Encouraging my teammates. Leading.

From the age of five through fourteen, I played basketball with my older brother in the driveway, played with our family friends in endless games of 2-on-2. Played at the Boys & Girls Club in Arlington, in winter recreational leagues on snowy Saturday mornings and during open gym. I played during the afternoons at the playground right next to our house, until Mom rang the old-fashioned copper bell that was attached to the back porch. Mom shouting “Dinner!” and then the ringing echo of that bell.

Three-pointers and free-throws shot alone…a form of meditation before I knew what meditation was. We didn’t pray. We didn’t discuss mindfulness. We read books and played sports and we’re expected to get straight As. Free-throws swishing through the net. My meditation sessions.

The sound of the rubber ball, then later the indoor/outdoor luxurious composite material with a nicer feel…the ricochet of the ball on the dusty, sandy court. The sound of the ball swishing through the net. The harsh clang of the ball bouncing…