You Miss Every Shot You Don’t Take

My relationship with my biological father feels like that of a basketball game… back and forth, back and forth… toss ups and fouls, time outs and bench time. And, once a bucket is finally made for us and we score… it’s all too soon we are back on defense! As the timer ticks on, and we are nearing the fourth quarter of this uneventful game, I’m not sure if the score even matters. Because, it feels like no one can win!

My parents separated when I was twelve, divorced when I was thirteen, my mother re-married when I was fourteen, and had a new baby when I was fifteen. Maybe that seems like a whirlwind for a kid, but I handled it fine. The problem is my father didn’t.

My dad is a retired basketball coach. My distinct thoughts for my Dad revolve around the sport of basketball, and my past thoughts roll around my heart many times when I’m reminded. Sometimes, the sounds of basketball shoes squeaking on the gym floor will stop me. Sometimes, the smells of players at my son’s basketball games will bring me back. Sometimes, I will watch a coach squatting on the gym floor with chalk and I suddenly turn into a five, six, or seven year old again in the stands watching. I find myself there quicker than I want to be. And, it’s all from those childhood memories of traveling to games, keeping stats, and being a coaches kid.

After the divorce, my father was unable to let go of his own pain for the sake of parenting us. He found himself believing we were better off without him. And, rather than fight for the win, he just forfeited it all. Selfishness is lonely, and the game is hard to play without all the players.  We all began to lose.

The buzzer ticked on and the game of life grew us further apart. I have three children now.  After college, marriage, travel and different life plays we have all ended up back in my hometown…the same town my dad coached in so long ago (before they divorced and he moved away) and the same town I graduated from.

My oldest son came to us during his second grade year wanting to sign up for little dribblers. This was years ago, but it’s significant because we had just finished a fall full of baseball. With three kids, our calendars stay full, especially with baseball. Therefore, I was inclined to say, “No, you don’t need to play basketball. We just finished your busy baseball and WE ALL NEED A BREAK!” But, my husband encouraged him to try. So, without even thinking about it being the sport of “basketball”, we just signed him up.

Our lives had always revolved around baseball. My husband played baseball in college, and his brother played in college. Up until that point, Aidan had learned everything about the smaller, heavier ball, but he was ready to play basketball!

During his first few Little Dribbler games, we were in shock. Our son could play! He could handle the ball and lead others in the game. He could dribble! He could shoot! He even understood the game of basketball. I’m sure he had played on the playground at school, but you could tell he just loved this sport and we had honestly given him NO HELP with training! He was a natural!  It made me think of my estranged Dad. It made me text him about their commonality and try and blow a whistle for attention, once more.

More years passed (with balls left in different courts) and I remember inviting him to watch his first grandson play. He was finally coming. I sent the address. I sent the time. I made the reminder phone calls and texts. And…..I told my son, Aidan.

But, as the last shots were made in the game, and the team huddled to talk with the coach, I knew, once more, I had been had. I caught my fifth grader scoping out the room, peering high and low, and my throat began to swell. Yes, I was embarrassed that some adults knew he didn’t show (since we were so obviously looking throughout the game to make sure “Molly’s real Dad” wasn’t lost).  But, this was MY REALITY ….My NORM….My LIFE.   I had become an exceptional guard in this game…. guarding myself from getting hurt.   How could I have been so stupid to re-enter the “high stakes, high expectations ballgame” hoping this time might be a winner?  For me, as a parent, I am so proud of my children. They are my greatest accomplishment! And, though my father hadn’t seen many of my wins or losses, it broke my heart for him to not come…. for him to not only disappoint me, but to do the same to my child.

At that throat swelling moment, watching my son share that same disappointment (or at least feeling like he shared it with me) I finally called a TIME OUT! A technical, personal foul had been made on my heart and I had to protect it!

 

Now, Aidan has begun his freshman year of basketball. He is beginning an exciting journey with a game he loves! He is growing in size, in aggression, in heart, and in the knowledge of the fundamentals of basketball. He is playing on that same court that my Dad once coached, and I once played in High School. The only difference is that Aidan is going to do BIG things (on and off the court). His team is amazing and so is he! I never really had a longing for my Dad to watch me, because it wasn’t special. But, this is special! With every three point shot he makes, there is a swishing sound pushing me to share this with his grandfather!

I know my Dad calls our relationship game as he sees it, and I am well aware that his playbook is far different from mine. His offensive and defensive plays confuse me, and I know his training (his upbringing) was far different from the Godly mother and grandparents I was given.

Like the circle of a basketball, he has continued a cycle he learned. Like so many families, the cycle goes on and on and on. Yes, he has had choices and he failed, but the fouls he has given me are FORGIVEN! He hasn’t fouled out yet! He doesn’t have to throw in the towel!

He needs to come to the games and enjoy watching his grandson! He needs to share in this basketball pride with me and just embrace the simplicity of the game!  There is still time, the buzzer hasn’t sounded yet! I am rotating this ball. I’m putting a spin on things! I’m throwing away the rulebook. I’m not continuing the circular, “McGriff Selfish Cycle!” I am being a good sport, slapping his hand and saying “Good Game!”- because HE IS MY DAD!

And, because in the game of basketball it’s not about giving up. It’s about taking shots….shots, shots, shots, and more shots, even when you know you may miss!  After all, you miss every shot you don’t take!

Yours Truly,

Hairnet Heiness