My Dream Of Basketball

Ever since I could utter the word, “basketball”, it’s always been a dream of mine. I mimicked the moves of Michael Jordan and Kobe Bryant throughout our small 2-room apartment. I dreamed of having the admiration and glorious praise that they received for myself, as the best basketball player of their era. Coming home from school, before completing my homework or grabbing something to eat, my first instinct was to pick up my basketball, and shot until my arms couldn’t bear the pain any longer. I found peace in solitude, I found a friend with my basketball. The summer going into 4th grade, I finally convinced my parents to let me play on a team. The level of excitement was large, but so was the level of apprehensiveness. My mom was the one

I had lots of work to do, but I wasn’t ready to give up on my dream. I changed the way that I practiced, because the way that I was practicing before obliviously wasn’t working. I changed the way I ate, because I was eating like a starved pig with a binge eating disorder. Practice was in a week, and this was my chance to prove to myself that I could succeed on a team. Once I arrived to practice, I felt like Michael Jordan himself, my muscles felt bigger than they actually were, I felt like I could’ve dunked the ball at 4’11, although my confidence wasn’t warranted, it was much needed. I played the best that I’ve ever played up until that moment. The ball was going through the hoop, instead of going through my face. My teammates were talking to me now because I was playing well, and my coach named me the starting point guard. I slept very well that night, I proved to myself that I could do

My head was rushing and all the lights in the room in the room felt like they were right in my face. I looked around at everyone in the face and asked, “what are you guys doing?”. Everyone’s face looked concerned and distraught about the certain situation, while I was trying to find out why I woke up in the middle of the gym with a headache. The trainer told to keep my neck still as he walked me to his office. The florescent light bulbs felt like brighter than the sun, my sweat begin to dry, my hands felt clammy, and the weight of the world was on top of my head. I knew that I had a concussion once the trainer’s simple questions felt like final jeopardy. My mom came to pick me up and before I could say a word she said to me, “You’re done playing basketball, and that’s final”. My heart shattered, and I tried to fight back tears forming in my watery eyes. I felt as if someone stole the world’s most precious jewel from me, I felt worthless, and incomplete. All it took was half a second to destroy a 2nd grader’s basketball