Answer: BOY21 Inspiration Essay #2
When I was in junior high, during a snow day, my best friend
and I shoveled off one half of the town basketball court. No one else was
around, because of the weather. I remember this sense of wild rebellion. It was
exciting. We had never heard of anyone shoveling the court just to play
basketball.
We laughed our way through a few
hours of one-on-one. I remember my friend taking off his shirt and then
watching his skin turn pink, seeing his silver breath slip in and out of his
mouth, steam rising from his head.
Every once in a while he’d light up a cigarette, take a few puffs, and then set it down at half court. If he got a rebound, he’d return to his cigarette and take a few nicotine hits, dribbling the whole time.
In my mind we played basketball rain or shine every day for years. I remember riding on the axle pegs of his BMX bike, holding onto his shoulder with one hand and the basketball with my other.
In high school it was a different friend, who was actually on our varsity basketball team. We’d shoot hoops and play one-on-one for days and years, and I don’t think I ever beat him once. Afterwards, we’d climb the fence that separated his parents’ garage from the neighbors, hop onto the roof, lean back, look up at the few stars we could see through the Philly smog, and we’d talk about everything from girls to religion to hoops to the great unknowable life beyond high school.
Those two ball-players were like brothers to me, but I haven’t spoken to either in years.
We made different decisions; adulthood happened.
I think about them both every time I see a hoop; I wish them well.
Those boyhood days spent playing basketball were formative—some of the most important days of my life.
BOY21 is a novel about such days.
We laughed our way through a few
hours of one-on-one. I remember my friend taking off his shirt and then
watching his skin turn pink, seeing his silver breath slip in and out of his
mouth, steam rising from his head.Every once in a while he’d light up a cigarette, take a few puffs, and then set it down at half court. If he got a rebound, he’d return to his cigarette and take a few nicotine hits, dribbling the whole time.
In my mind we played basketball rain or shine every day for years. I remember riding on the axle pegs of his BMX bike, holding onto his shoulder with one hand and the basketball with my other.
In high school it was a different friend, who was actually on our varsity basketball team. We’d shoot hoops and play one-on-one for days and years, and I don’t think I ever beat him once. Afterwards, we’d climb the fence that separated his parents’ garage from the neighbors, hop onto the roof, lean back, look up at the few stars we could see through the Philly smog, and we’d talk about everything from girls to religion to hoops to the great unknowable life beyond high school.
Those two ball-players were like brothers to me, but I haven’t spoken to either in years.
We made different decisions; adulthood happened.
I think about them both every time I see a hoop; I wish them well.
Those boyhood days spent playing basketball were formative—some of the most important days of my life.
BOY21 is a novel about such days.
Q
