I wasn’t going to get a D1 scholarship, but back in high school I was considered a fairly respectable basketball player. As a kid, my dad used to encourage us to run up and down the road bouncing the basketball as we went. He said if we could handle the ball on gravel (we had a mile-long gravel driveway), then surely we’d be able to handle the ball on the flat, obstruction free basketball court.
I thought the man was losing his marbles. Seemed like a silly, if not nearly impossible thing to do. After giving it much thought, and a bit of practice, I came to understand the wisdom. He knew that in order to be good at something you had to put in the work, sometimes ridiculously hard work, to get there. He never forced us to play basketball, but he and mom always said we could be good, as long as we didn’t just dream about great results, but put in the time needed on the journey to get there.
We didn’t have a lot back then. But my parents always seemed to find the money to send me to basketball camps, though it probably meant some other really important need didn’t get fulfilled. I understand now they did it because they saw the hard work, the effort, the desire I had. They honored that work by saving their pennies to help me get even better. |
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