I had put on extra deodorant for that long-awaited day. I made sure the shoelaces on my new “Michael Jordan Pumps” were double knotted. The night before, I even ironed my jersey making sure my last name, Yung, was visible. “Is everyone twelve years old,” I thought to myself as I looked up at my competition towering over me… and my dad. I was on the verge of losing all confidence, I had no answer, my mind only registered an image of giant twelve year olds running me over in the race for a spot on the city league basketball team. But I had no time to doubt myself. Hadn’t I practiced everyday after school until my body begged me to stop? Even after my mom’s ineffective attempts to get me to eat dinner, I couldn’t go in yet; I had to get my lay-up just right. Everyday, with nothing but the chorus of
crickets and mosquitoes as my company, I did the same drills to improve my basketball skills, the same exercises to build my strength, and held on to the same dream driving me to seek perfection. The buzzer sounded and the tryouts began. The coaches put us through drill after drill. “YES, made that shot and that shot!” Practice is paying off! They shouted their demands, but their voices lost its fierce intensity as my brain clouded from exhaustion. “Stop,” the coaches shouted in unison, signaling the end of the City League Basketball tryouts. I watched through glossy eyes as time passed and I was still not picked for any of the ten teams. The once crowded court was at one time a place of refuge from all the spectator’s stares and now it emphasized my “loser” status, as I was the only one left on th
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