Ch. 1: Playground (Connor)
"Dad," I said as I sat in the back seat of the car. "Why do we have to visit our family members this time of year? Couldn't we wait to next week?"
"Son," said my dad. "This is the only time that we can meet up. I'm sorry you have to miss your tournament, but with our newest addition, the family felt it was best we meet up earlier. You know how excited your aunts and uncles are."
"Besides," my mother said. "This is the perfect way to introduce Clarissa to the family."
I hate family reunions. I really, really hate family reunions. Don't get me wrong, I love all of my extended family members. But when you're 12-years-old, the last thing you want is to spend time with people that you see at least once or twice a year.
I was really looking forward to spending a week in Cleveland with my AAU teammates as we were going to be competing in a summer basketball tournament up there. It was more important than heading out to a lake house on Lake Michigan with my parents and their loved ones. I had already told my teammates I would be with them.
But no, my parents told me it was important that I travel with them to see the other family members and this year, it meant more to everyone. Why? Well, twelve years after I was born, my mother and father decided raising an only child wasn't good enough and that's when my baby sister Clarissa was born. I really believed they wasted time in deciding to have another child.
My parents are some of the nicest, friendliest, and most annoying people you would ever meet. They don't try to be annoying, but they give off vibes that make you want to leave. My dad is a pastor, who preaches everything from the word of the book. My mom is a housewife who also teaches piano lessons to students. With them, it's faith, and family with nothing else. Yes, I am a believer of Christ and have read the Bible before. But being a preacher's kid is annoying because there's a limit in what you can and can't do in this world.
I'm Connor Dilfer and when I was 12, I had to suffer going on a road trip to Lake Michigan from my hometown in French Lick, Indiana. You might've heard about French Lick, Indiana before. It's where our most famous resident, Larry Bird, was born. You probably heard about Larry Bird's career in the NBA. There's an unwritten rule in French Lick these days. If you're from French Lick and you play basketball, never try to duplicate Larry Bird because there would never be one.
But that's the hard part because there's a tradition where I'm from. If you were to create the perfect basketball fable, it would have to begin in the state of Indiana where young boys grow up with a ball in their hands, a basket out back and dreams of glory within their hearts. For me, I was one of those boys who dreamed of basketball glory. Everywhere you saw me, it would be rare that I didn't have a basketball in my hand. I was destined to be a basketball player growing up.
My parents loved basketball too. My dad played high school and college ball at Indiana State University, where he met my mom, who also played. He was a talented individual, but didn't think he was too good for the NBA. While he was drafted by the Philadelphia 76ers, he felt it was best not to partake in the league.
When I was younger, my dad would introduce the game to me, but never told me to strive to be the best I could be. In my eyes, I was destined to reach the pros whether in the NBA or overseas. I spent most summers playing basketball and working on my game. Sure, I had friends that I hung out with and we didn't play basketball. But with it by my side as always, I felt that basketball was where I belonged.
So basketball was with me when my parents and I along with Clarissa made our way to our lake house. It was around summer time and we were to meet our extended family members. To give you a brief summary of who they are, imagine the Beverly Hillbillies joining the circus and trying to pretend to be Frank Sinatra.
When we arrived to the house, I was greeted by the horrors of the family members.
"Hello," Aunt Shirley said as she gave me a hug and kiss. If she wasn't over 300 pounds, I would have some fresh air and not be squeezed inside her. "How's my favorite boy doing?"
"I'm doing fine," I said, which was a lie for I hate being here and please release me from your clenches of death.
"I hear you are the big brother of a baby sister. That has to be the best feeling. Aren't you excited?"
"It's different," I replied.
"Well is that Connor?" The rumbling of steps approached me in the person of Uncle Dennis. Dennis about the same size as Shirley, but more in muscle with a long beard. "Come here you."
Dennis picked me up and lifted me in the air while hugging me. I swore if he kept this up, he would break my back. "How's it going?" I asked.
"Great. You playing b-ball these days?"
"I am," I replied saying the only exciting answer to an exciting question.
"Well, you ought to be because I've been working on my skills. Next time we go one-on-one, I am set to bring you down."
I laughed at the comment because the closest Dennis ever came to beating me in a one-on-one game was 21-4. If he did less eating and more working, he would give me a tougher challenge. But that wasn't all that I saw.
"Come on Connor," I glanced to see two twin blonde-haired little girls coming to me. "Play dress up with us."
"I'm sorry Jane and Jenn," I say. "I really can't."
"Please?" They both said to me. "If you do, we'll make you king of all."
I'd rather be king of a country called Get Me Out Of Here.
"Son, go play with the twins," my dad shouted.
"But Dad," I answer.
"Now."
With no other choice, I went to play dress up with Jane and Jenn. It was totally humiliating when they had me wear a girly hat and made me wear slippers that were nowhere near my size. I could've destroyed their costumes in a heartbeat and I would've been fine. But being the nice cousin I was to them, I couldn't do that.
Even worse was the makeup they put on me. My lips were purple while they drew circles with the lipstick over my face. Luckily, no one was around to see this or I would've wanted to kill myself when they all laughed at me.
"Don't you look cute?" Jane asked.
"Yeah," agreed Jenn. "Look in the mirror."
I did and was horrified by the site. But I had to put on my best smiley face to make the twins believe I was cute.
There were other family members that were just as annoying and embarrassing. There was Uncle Stan, the lawyer who was to Harvardish. In other words, he was a smart, intelligent, and arrogant fellow who believed he was always in the right. This attitude did cause a rift with him and our family. There was my mother's cousin Becky, who appeared to have married the liquor bottle with each passing day. I'm surprised she wasn't even going to rehab nor that my parents weren't concerned.
The worst of the bunch was Uncle Frankie, the overrated and not even funny ventriloquist who appeared with his dummy called Dipstick. I preferred to call him Dipshit because the dummy was dressed up with a straw hat, gray suit, and had teeth that made him appear to be a beaver. Every time that stupid dummy made some joke, I wanted to kick it in the face.
Frankie: Say Dipstick, how excited are you to meet the new child?
Dipstick: About as excited as me meeting Cher. Dark and gloomy.
Frankie: Don't be like that. This is a joyous occasion.
Dipstick: What's so joyous when you know the old one is no longer the attention seeker?
Are you laughing? No? Good, because those jokes, if you can call them that, are just flat out terrible.
Everyone seemed to be in love with the new child Clarissa and I was glad for it because I needed a break from feeling stressed out. Fortunately, there was one place the house and the area I was in that made me feel comfortable. When it seemed like everyone wasn't paying attention, I grabbed my basketball and walked outside the house. My parents would know where I was at.
About a few minutes from where our house was stood a playground. It was a typical playground with swings, a slide, monkey bars, and other structures that normal playgrounds had. Right next to the playground was a basketball court that overlooked the lake. It was a concrete court that had white lines drawing one side of the court. There was only one hoop where the backboard was a white half-circled one that had aluminum chains down the goal representing the net.
I walk to the court much like I always do every time I was here. I approach the free throw line, spin the ball on my fingers for a bit. Then, I work on my between the legs dribble because I wanted to be great at my ball-handling skills. Finally, I fired my first shot on the court, a jumper on the base line. SWISH! Nothing but net. I then go behind the three-point line and fire my next shot. SWISH! Another shot.
I make six outside shots in a row until I finally missed a shot. Then, I work on getting another streak going. I make shot after shot after shot. I'm in a zone right now. I'm thinking about going for a hook shot, which I make. I return behind the three-point line and fire a shot. It hits the front iron on the rim, goes off the backboard and trickles into the hoop.
When I feel good, I start thinking about a dream situation for myself like I always do as kid. I go through my imaginary call as I pretend I'm in a game.
"Game seven of the NBA Finals," I start saying. "The Indiana Pacers are leading the Los Angeles Lakers 107 to 106 and L.A has the ball. They feed the ball down low to Dwight Howard. He passes it to Steve Nash. They swing it around to Kobe. Kobe Bryant gets the ball, he fires a turnaround shot. It goes in and the Lakers lead 108-107. Timeout is called."
I dribble the ball and continue with my dream scenario.
"The Pacers do have Paul George who can take the shot. But I'll tell you what, this Connor Dilfer guy has something about him that could make him a future NBA star one of these days. Indiana with the ball and seconds on the clock. They feed the ball to Connor. He dribbles to his right, crosses over Kobe, launches the shot."
I take the shot and the ball swishes through the net.
"Game over. It's over. Pacers win. The Pacers win the NBA Title. Oh man. Connor Dilfer is being raised up by his teammates. He's the finals MVP. Indiana wins and Connor is the hero."
"Hey, can I have your autograph?" I heard a voice shout.
I quickly glance out and there coming up to me was a tall, lanky girl, who was wearing a pink shirt with Orlando Magic on it. She also had black shorts that for a girl seemed to be too tight on. Black-haired, skin as pale as the moonlight, she had a smile that matched up the night. I stared at her as she got close to me.
I then look at her hands and I see that she too had a basketball. This could get interesting.
