Growing up Basketball

For as long as I can remember my brother (Let's call him Big J), played basketball. And he wasn't just good, he was very very good.

So good that when I finally joined him in high school and all of us small skinny Frosh were getting our fitness evaluation, the basket ball coach said if I could jump as well as my brother could he'd start me on JV no tryout needed.  Not being my brother, I did not start JV. Other than one or two years in middle school, basketball wasn't my sport.

Anyway, because my brother was so good at basketball, it meant when he was in middle school through high school, if it was basketball season we lived on the courts. I spent countless weekends and week nights at the gym hanging out, doing homework, running wild with my BFF, consuming ungodly amounts of hot dogs, popcorn, and candy, learning all the cheers, and occasionally watching the games.

I didn't realize it at the time, but over the course of these seemingly endless years of basketball, the sport was worming its nostalgic way into my heart.  I've always liked college ball but couldn't get passed the egos in the professional games. But post-college, I just kind of forgot about it in favor of other interests (like archery, reading, raising kids, and you know napping).

A few years ago, in the interest of annoying a good friend of mine, in the spirit of a good rivalry, I started paying attention to March Madness and all of those wonderful memories of my childhood revived a love of the sport.  The Hubs even managed to get us a tickets to a few professional games. Once just a few rows back from the floor, and once in BOX seating!!! 

Which as you can see wasn't as thrilling for Bug at the time as it was for me. (To be fair, it was past his beadtime).

And now that soccer season is over, Bug is starting his own basketball journey. His very first practice was a few weeks ago. And yes, I am THAT mom, taking pics and video of everything.

From his first basket.

To his first team meeting.

To learning to be a pick.

To scrimmaging and going for a shot (even though he totally traveled).

It took a few games, but his team is finding their groove...

and so is he.

And so I find myself back in a middle school gym. And despite the oh so familiar smell and the squeak of shoes on the court, I can't say I'm anything but thrilled. In fact, I might go so far as to say I'm home.

Seriously... Thoughts?