He was sitting in the remote upper lip of the bleachers, in his usual spot, away from everyone else. I ran down to the other end of the court and posted up under the basket, and I caught him out of the corner of my eye. Dad's voice was hoarse from screaming, but I could still tell it was him, because no one else there would bother to remind me to follow my shot or get my hands up for defense.
Every time I sank the ball, I could hear a lone deep voice begin to cheer a full second before the rest of the bleachers chimed in. And it made me want to die.Īt the game, I'd scored twenty-two points, which already topped my personal best by a basket, and I showed no signs of slowing down. What started with an accident on the court ended with the single most devastating look I ever got from my father. My destiny began to unfurl during my very last game at school.
I always knew I was different, but until I discovered I had my own story, I never thought I was anything special. I NEVER THOUGHT I'd have a story worth telling, at least not one about me.
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