Keep Jumping / No Hating

by Stephanie Perry Moore

  “Well, it’s not heavier than what I’m dealing with,” she said, having no clue.

  Now was not the time for me to go into it with her because clearly she was only all into herself. Her world was a little upside down. I was not trying to pin my issues with hers, but I was also not thinking that a physical interaction would make both of us feel good when we both had such deep issues. I’d slept with one girl to satisfy my urges, and I’d never do that again.

  “You don’t want to be with me? Fine, don’t call me anymore! Take me home now, and never freaking speak to me again,” she pouted.

  I did not know if that was a scare tactic. I did not know if she thought that was going to make me change my mind. I did not know what she was thinking, but I could only take her at face value. So I drove her home in silence. When we pulled up in her driveway, she did not say bye and neither did I. She got out, slammed the car door shut, walked away, and never looked back. We had been connecting so well, and now there was nothing between us. Still, I knew I did the right thing, even if I lost her.

  “Quit trying to showboat!” Waxton yelled out to me. I was doing what I’d always done in practice: take balls away.

  “Please, you better get out of my face. Just because you are not on your game, don’t hate because I’m on mine.”

  When we ran the next play, Waxton and an offensive lineman did not cover their assignments and purposely ran full speed into me. Imagine getting hit by a three-hundred-pound offensive tackle and a two-hundred-ten-pound running back who benched three hundred fifty pounds. I was taken out pretty hard. There were a lot of oohs and aahs going on around me. I did not know if I was out for a second or a few minutes, but as soon as I came to, I immediately tried to get up. But I was a little too groggy to do so.

  Brenton stood over me and said, “Hey, take it easy.”

  I flung his hand off of me and said, “Stop, I don’t need your help. I don’t need your hand. I can get up on my own. Waxton, if you want to take it all the way there, bring it, guy. Let’s just go for it.” I looked around for the running back who thought he was all that.

  The guy could play, but his grades sucked. His attitude was even worse. Whoever told him he was the man inflated his head a little too much. The balloon was about to pop, and I had the needle. He was just a jerk. His coarse joking was over the top. If you did not laugh at what he said, he made it a point to come after you. He was a real insecure dude. As the pieces of the puzzle started to unfold, I realized a few of the defensive linemen were in on the brutal tactics. They were giving each other high-fives and were over with Wax, whispering.

  I immediately ran over there and said, “What? Y’all didn’t want to block your man? Y’all wanted him to hit me? I’m not here for you to like me. I don’t need you to block for me. I don’t even need you to play fair—”

  “I, I, I, I!” Coach Strong yelled. “There is no I in team, Amir. How about you head over to my office right now. The rest of you guys get back to work, now!”

  “Why I got to go to your office, Coach? They ganged up on me. My body was the one just on the ground. Their behinds were the ones not performing out there, and I got to come to your office,” I grumbled.

  “Look, I don’t need any lip from you. Now zip it up and take it to my office, now.”

  Storming off, I went into his office. He told me to have a seat on the couch. He was not happy either, but at that point, I did not care. I had not pushed anybody back. I had not given them what they gave to me. I did not deserve to be having a talk.

  “Amir, I told you, I don’t have any showboaters on my team,” Coach lectured.

  “Coach, I was just playing ball. I didn’t get in anybody’s face and harass them for missing their assignment. Nah, that’s Waxton. I just capitalized on it. Boom! I took the ball. I am the man! I’m not the showboater.”

  “No, I have the right one in here. You kept saying I, I, I. When we go out there Friday night and I ease you into the game because I know I’m going to need you, I want you to be ready to cover your assignments. While you got a good knack for the ball, sometimes you don’t stay in your lane, and you could be faked out.”

  “But when has that happened, Coach?”

  “This is just practice. You haven’t faced a defender yet. What happens if your instinct is wrong, and you think he’s throwing the ball one way but the ball is coming to the lane you abandon? The receiver will be open, catch the ball, and we’ll get burned. That might not be a big deal if we got a forty-something point lead, but the teams we’re about to play the next stretch of the season, they’re animals on offense and beasts on defense. So I doubt that we’ll be running up the score on anybody, nor do I want the other team to run it up. I need you to do you and stop hating on these guys because they’ve got camaraderie.”

  “I don’t hate that.”

  “You act like you do. Something inside of you doesn’t want to get along with anybody here. Can you be a team player, Amir? You need to talk to me. You need to tell me what’s going on right here and right now. You are bringing a lot of pent-up frustration to my team and my practices, and you might not have been able to see that there was something practically stuck up your butt, but I’m the one to pull it out. We got a game to win. Talk to me.”

  Why in the world would I want to talk to him? All he was doing was screaming like my dad. I had spent enough time with Blake for him to tell me that his dad was not winning the best father in the world award. Also, dealing with Coach Strong myself, I knew he wasn’t winning the nicest coach of the year award either.

  “Is it that your dad doesn’t want you to play? Your mom is the one who called me, and all I needed was one parent to sign the forms. I know your dad was pretty strong about his feelings on football. If you are taking crap at home because of this decision, I’ll talk to him again.”

  Coach Strong kept going on, saying your dad, your dad, your dad, your dad. Finally, I just blurted out, “Just found out he’s not my dad, okay?”

  Coach sank in his chair and was silent. He did not push me to talk. Clearly by his mannerisms, I could see he wanted the full story.

  “Amir, I’m a tough coach . . .” Coach Strong said after minutes went by and neither of us said a word. “But my former players will tell you—and even the ones here know—I care deeply about my athletes. You got an issue or a problem, then I want to try and fix it. I’m about winning football games, but I know I have been called to this job to make men. You can’t run from your problems.”

  That sounded good, but it was hard to hit something head on when it’s been thrown in your face so hard. However, this was eating me up. Maybe he did have a method to his madness.

  I opened up. “I learned not too long ago that my mom had an affair. My dad knew. I’m the product of the affair, and they kept me.”

  I gave him the full details of how it all came out. I was glad that he came from behind his desk, sat on the couch, and really listened to me. It felt good to talk.

  “So how do you feel about all of this?”

  “I don’t know. It’s admirable that he acknowledged me as his son, but it’s horrible that he has treated me like dirt all my life. It shows he has regretted his decision. I guess I would probably feel better if he would have gotten rid of me one way or another. If I wouldn’t have existed, it wouldn’t have mattered anyway. And if he would’ve given me up for adoption, at least I would’ve been with loving people who wanted to take on the responsibility, not with someone trying to be a knight in shining armor, but failing to live up to their last name. Why me?”

  “Son, so many players on my team have issues with their dads. You’re not alone in that regard.”

  “What does that have to do with anything, Coach?”

  “It means that there are a lot of young men out there hurting like you, and football is such an aggressive sport that you get out there and the emotions that you’re dealing with outside of the game come into play. Everybody gets a little too worked up sometimes. We
have to keep each other in check.”

  “I can’t be there for them if I can’t be there for myself.”

  “You’re right. I’m not going to pretend that I have all the answers. I’m a father who gets it wrong too, but you’re a level-headed young man with a lot of potential, a lot of heart, and a lot of guts. The tenacity to forge your dad’s signature—”

  I quickly cut him off and said, “He’s not my dad.”

  “You know what I’m saying. For you to do that showed you really wanted to be here, and now that you have a legitimate opportunity to play, don’t let anything distract you from that. Be open to meeting new people. Be able to allow your dad to deal with whatever he’s feeling about the situation. Look for the good in all circumstances. Don’t hate, but love. When you do that, you’re going to be open to more possibilities for yourself. Right now you’re frustrated that the doors are blocked, but you’re the one who’s standing in your own way. Fix you and you’ll fix your problems.”

  He walked out, leaving me to ponder his thoughts. Darn, he was good. Now, how would I respond?

  “Hey, man, um, if you’re not up to anything, I could use a partner to go with me, to a Big Brother Big Sister meeting,” Brenton stepped into his uncle’s office and asked me.

  “Huh?” I said, looking up at Brenton, who I guess was trying to be friendly again.

  He explained, “Blake and I volunteer down at the YMCA. We’re teaching some of the little boys the fundamentals of football. Today he’s got to do some extra studying. He’s the one with the car. So I figured instead of me just canceling, I’d see if you wanted to swing by there. It’s only an hour session, but it makes a difference to the kids.”

  “You volunteer?” I said, actually impressed with that.

  Brenton nodded. I agreed to go. After we stopped at Church’s Chicken, we were there.

  “I love coming to this club because most of these boys don’t have fathers. I can relate to that,” Brenton said. “I never knew my dad.”

  Certainly Coach Strong’s office was not bugged so that all the boys in the locker room could overhear what we had talked about, but it was sort of eerie that Brenton immediately started talking about boys with no fathers. That was exactly the situation I was in. Just great, but I did not want to open up, so I looked out of the window.

  “Amir, I know that’s not your issue, but volunteering and giving back is always good. I know you got a good dad, so just imagine if you didn’t.”

  “How old are they?”

  “They range in ages, but the groups we work with, they’re eight- and nine-year-olds.”

  “So I imagine they don’t want you to take pity on them, but they may be a little angry and upset they are fatherless. Each of them probably thinks they are going to be the next NFL great.”

  “You’re pretty much dead on for someone who can’t relate,” Brenton said.

  I could have clarified things with Brenton. I could have let him know that I now had no clue who my father was. I could have revealed that I, too, was very angry and did not want anyone to take pity on me. However, I stayed quiet.

  We got into the YMCA, and it was time for me to pour into others and change my perspective as Coach Strong advised. I needed to make somebody else smile. I knew if I focused on what was going on with me, I’d be frowning from here to South America.

  When we got going, I had four kids who were eight years old. We were going to be playing against the four nine-year-olds Brenton was coaching. It was just flag football, but he and I knew we were both competitive and had been champions in flag football in PE. Just because we switched to coaching, our desire to win was not going to disappear. Brenton was eyeing me like he wanted to win, and I was eyeing him like my team was going to cream his boys even though mine were younger.

  We had a blast seeing the boys run around, asking us questions about how to hold the ball, talking to them about why we loved football so much, and then seeing their faces light up when we gave them tickets to our next home game. When we had to wrap the session after a tie, we brought all the boys around. We asked them if there was anything that they wanted to talk about.

  There was a little boy named Jake who stood when no one else wanted to and said, “I haven’t been able to sleep the last couple of nights. See, my mom and I live in the basement, and my aunt and uncle live on top with their two kids. I have been wondering for the past couple of years why my dad wouldn’t be there for me like my uncle is there for my cousins . . .”

  Brenton’s head dropped, and I did not know much of the story about him and Blake, but I was sure that it had to be a struggle for him; having a tough but loving uncle was not like having a father.

  “Brenton, you want to take this one?” I said to him

  “That’s not all,” the little boy Jake said, cutting me off.

  “Oh, I’m sorry.”

  “Well, we had to move out last week. When I started asking questions, nobody had answers. We sat around for a family meeting, and I learned the man who I thought was my uncle was really my dad. He was just taking care of us because he didn’t want to pay child support. He did not want my mom to take him to court and stuff, but now I know his wife doesn’t want me there.”

  I could not believe what I heard. His situation was worse than mine. This kid was only eight. It just did not seem right. I had to give him hope.

  I looked at Jake and said, “Come on, sport. Let’s go shoot some hoops.”

  Jake smiled. Brenton nodded. Jake and I got up and walked away from the others.

  “Can I share something with you?” I said to him. “I just learned the man I was living with is not my father, and you just learned that man you’re living with is yours. There’s a lot of tension in my home too, but I don’t want you to think what’s going on with the adults is your fault. What happened to bring us into this world doesn’t have to control our lives. I know your mother loves you, and while your father hid the truth from you, I know things will get worked out right.”

  “You think he’ll want to be my dad like he is to his other two kids?”

  “I hope so, Jake, but I know whether he does or doesn’t that you’re a pretty cool little dude. You will be fine. Want to play some basketball?”

  He nodded. I let him beat me. He was even happier.

  When I was taking Brenton home, he said, “So you were able to connect with that guy. You wanna talk about anything?”

  “Just my world turned upside down, that’s all. I found out that the good old Dr. Knight isn’t my dad.”

  “Dang, man, I’m sorry.”

  “No, it actually explains a lot. Coach Strong gave me some really good advice.”

  “Yeah, my uncle wants to help us grow up right.”

  “How have you been able to do it, not having a dad?” I asked.

  “My uncle has been good. Even with that, I realize he’s not my dad. So I try not to compare myself to Blake. It used to be harder when I was younger, but Blake would always get in so much trouble that it was easy for his dad to think I was better. It made Blake madder than it made me. I guess I know I can’t change what has happened with my upbringing, but I made a vow to myself to make sure that I’m responsible in that area. I won’t make babies too early or with somebody that I don’t really want to be with. I’m living every day thinking about the future, and I know that it’s harder when kids don’t have a dad, or they have a dad who’s a deadbeat. It’s a much easier life when their dad is there and when he provides. So your dad might not be yours biologically, but from where I sit, he set you up pretty nice. All right, man, thanks for volunteering,” Brenton said when we got to his humble home. “Let’s hang out again.”

  I agreed, knowing that he’d be a great buddy to have. What was cool was that he kept it honest. He reached out to me several times over the last couple of weeks. It was time to step up to the plate, embrace his friendship, and start connecting.

  CHAPTER 7

  Huge Victory

  Hey, Antho
ny. Wassup?” I asked when I saw his name light up my phone. I was sitting in my car outside school on the Friday morning before my first game.

  “Somebody’s got something big happening tonight,” my brother responded. “Go out there and show them, man. Mom and I are coming to the game.”

  “You don’t have to do that, man. I’m sure there’s some college party going on at Tech.”

  “Whatever, my little brother is stepping on the football field for the Lions.”

  “I might not even get in,” I said to him. “Coach has been tripping.”

  “You’ll be suited up, and you will have our support.”

  Both of us were silent on the phone for a few seconds. It was awkward because we had not had the chance to talk about the fact that I was now only his half-brother. I did not even know if he knew. Though I didn’t want to be late for class, I liked the way we had been able to relate to one another.

  “Amir, are you all right? Mom told me about everything going on. That’s heavy stuff.”

  “Yeah, I’m cool.”

  “Well, I love you, man, and nothing’s changed with us.”

  My conversation with my brother meant a lot to me. It got interrupted when Brenton tapped on my car window. I got out and saw several of the football players gathered together ready to walk into the school. They were hyped. I was looking at all of them bouncing up and down, cheering for each other, and I realized that they had a special bond that I wanted to be a part of. Surprisingly, Waxton was with them, but not with them. He was real low key and a little off to the side.

  I wandered over. “What’s up, Wax? You ready to go get ’em?”

  He looked up at me and said, “Please, obviously there are still holes in my game. You know it and I know it. If the defenders play me like you played me in practice, I’m messed up.”

  “Can I give you a piece of advice?” I asked, not wanting my head to be cut off by his smart-aleck comments.

  “Yeah, sure. What?” he asked in a humble tone.

  “Your eyes always give away the direction in which you’re gonna run with the ball. Don’t showboat. If you just go for the hole and quit trying to be cool and suave, you’re unstoppable.”