Basketball swish3/31/2023 His basketball team of black and white players from a small rural high school became one of the best teams in the entire state of Illinois. After the war Dad became a high school math teacher and a coach. He went to college on a basketball scholarship and barely finished before being drafted to fight in WWII. He shot hoops once all farm chores were done. One day he shared his thoughts with me, his daughter who grew up before Title 9 and wasn’t allowed to play “real basketball.”ĭad grew up on a dairy farm near a small town in central Illinois. Player, coach, a fan cheering for his favorite team. Off you went swimming hard to grab the ball before it went bobbing out to sea.ĭad loved BB. Someone had nailed a rusty, lop-sided hoop onto a lone coconut palm. I was wandering down a narrow spit of beach, there they were. I saw basketball played one time where I least expected-barefoot basketball on a tiny island in the middle of the Pacific Ocean, in Micronesia. Basketball, his passion all his life.Īfter high school and leaving home, wherever I was traveling, I’d write my Dad when I saw kids playing pick-up basketball, or shooting hoops alone. Ball thrown, caught …īackyard basketball. Fast moving feet pounding across hard-packed sand. I heard them before I saw them, but I recognized the sounds. Scroll down to read along and enjoy some photos.) I am honored to have a poem included in What is a Friend?, the newest poetry anthology from Sylvia Vardell and Janet Wong.
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