I wanted to share a sappy, personal story. The picture above is of my parents’ house but I want you to take a look at the worn-down, tired looking basketball goal.
My parents bought this house when I was in 2nd or 3rd grade. And that basketball goal went in soon thereafter. If you look at the concrete surrounding that goal more closely, you can make out a weathered down “B” from when I tried to write my name.
I have very vivid memories of being out on the driveway by myself shooting hoops; with my dad, shooting hoops and with my childhood best friend...shooting hoops. We even had floodlights that lit up the driveway so I could shoot at night. I was never a great basketball player, but there was something about dribbling around for a little bit and shooting baskets that I loved (and still do).
As I got older, I went out to the driveway less and less. Coming home from college during the summers, I didn’t make much time to shoot hoops in that driveway. And when I moved out, my own house had a basketball goal so, whenever I did get the itch…I’d shoot in my new driveway.
But one day, when Colin was younger, I decided to drive over to my parents…ball in hand…and shoot hoops with him. I’m not sure why I did it and at the time it didn’t feel all that profound. He was probably the same age or a bit older than I was when I first started shooting in that same driveway.
The “profoundness” came a year or so ago when a storm finally knocked that old goal down. And now, only a small part of the metal pole stands where that goal once did.
Like much in this life…seeing just the stunted remains of the pole standing in place of the whole goal kicked off an odd and complicated mix of emotions. There’s a somberness that settled in when I saw the missing goal.
And I've found myself wondering what my parents thought when they drove past the goal for all these years…and saw an empty driveway where once there were kids running around and shooting hoops.
There’s a hint of sadness for how fast childhood seems to go. A basketball goal goes up one day and seemingly the next, the kids are all grown up and the sounds of dribbling balls and laughter have faded away.
There’s also a measure of joy that I got to shoot hoops with my son on the same driveway that I did when I was his age (a pretty rare treat!).
But I think the emotion that hits me the most is gratitude. Gratitude that I took time when I was younger to put the video games down and go shoot hoops and make those memories. Gratitude that I got to play ball with my dad and play ball with my friends, until late at night sometimes.
I’m grateful that I took time to just live in those moments; grateful that I have this memory of playing horse with my son on the same court that I played horse on so many times…so long ago.
I’ve been thinking more and more about taking in moments and being present in the moment as Colin is growing up. I think I fell into the same trap that so many of us have…where we want to “hurry up” and be adults. “Hurry up” and get married. “Hurry up” and have kids. “Hurry up” and move up the professional ladder. “Hurry up” and be retired.
Until we realize we no longer want time to “hurry up…” we want time to slow down; and often times? It's sadly too late.
I’ll end with this quote by one of the greatest philosophers of our time, Yoda:
All his life has he looked away...to the future, to the horizon. Never his mind on where he was.
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