The weather turned fall like cool yesterday. Last night as I walked with Toy Poodle, Yodie to the backyard, I felt a nip in the air. In the near distance I could hear the sound of a basketball bouncing on the Our Lady of Lourdes elementary school court, which is adjacent to our home. I saw a neighborhood boy shooting baskets. The scene reminded me of a time in my own teenage journey when after supper, I'd head to our lighted backyard basketball court wearing a light sweatshirt, Levi's, Chuck Taylor converse tennis shoes and cotton work gloves with the fingers cut off. I'd put up hundreds of jump shots all by myself until the Washington Park, East St. Louis 9 o'clock whistle blew or the local police stopped to tell me it was time to give the neighbors a break. Night after night I'd repeat that routine from 1953 until the fall of 1957, when I left home for Illinois State.
This 2018, Decatur evening! I walked down the pathway to the court and began rebounding shots for the lad. A few times I put up a couple of my own very stationary shots. My thought process kicked in and I could automatically recall the jump shot mechanics. Catching a pass and quickly gathering the basketball into both hands, instantly arranging a carriage hand placement alongside the leather sphere with the shooting hand directly behind the ball. The slight bend of the knees and quick elevation from the floor and just before the peak of that vertical the smooth stroke-release from the forearm and the snap of the wrist and the feel of the ball rolling off the finger-tips. Oh, yes indeed the mental recall is as fresh as if it had been called upon everyday these past 65-years. Ah, but the body's components racked with back surgeries and aging atrophy no longer relate to the mind's recall. But the mind does allow sweet memories.
Oh My! God only knows how lucky I've been.
No comments:
Post a Comment