My Reality has a History

It would be shallow of me to always write blogs, which target others. I am unapologetic in my guilt of sharing our family matters and often pointing at another family member. I've been know to point fingers at politicians, organized religions and people in general. It is true that from time-to-time I poke fun but not in personal, hateful or mean-spirited ways.

Well, today, I expose myself. Umm, perhaps I should re-phrase...today I tell on myself. The old fool.

Our Decatur home finds the backyard adjacent to the outdoor blacktop basketball courts of Our Lady of Lourdes Catholic School. These late summer/early fall evenings always stir my memories of days gone by...those mid-1950's.

After the supper hour around 7:00PM, I'll walk to the backyard fence and listen to the dribbling cadence of a basketball and the chatter of young voices as the daylight gives way to the lighted basketball court. As Toy Poodle, Yodie and I find a place on the backyard swing, I close my eyes and recall the endless nights when my brother Tom and I would shoot hoops in our lighted backyard court in East St. Louis. Some neighborhood kids might join us and so many times I just found escape shooting, shooting and shooting all alone. It permitted me a journey to a place in mind that I have never found in any other activity throughout my life.

This particular evening the nearby school yard court was empty around 9:00PM. I pulled my 78- year old butt off the swing and went to the basement where I grabbed a basketball and headed to the court.
I was once again 'alone' in the element so familiar. I shot a few close in shots and then moved to the free throw line. Funny how some physical repetitious training skills (although rusty) do kick-in as they say. I suppose it's like riding a bike; once you learn you never truly forget.

I shot several more times and then it happened. I wanted more. I took a couple of once familiar dribbles to my right and attempted to 'pull-up' and shoot a jump shot. There's no way to put it except to say, "Ain't no jump left in this old boy." In my mind, I elevated and knocked down a 15-foot jumper. In reality, my feet never left the blacktop and the ball fell several feet short of its mark. I looked heavenward and noted the same moon and stars above the court, which have always been above every boy's court of dreams...but the boy has a different name this night.
(Touch)
Ain't What I Used to Be