Basketball

Basketball Was My Escape

Hey all —
Today I want to share a little writing from my book.

Basketball.

I started playing in the 8th grade. Compared to volleyball, it was much harder — way more running, way more aggression. But once I got the hang of it, it became easier and easier. I was a natural jumper, and before long, I was pulling down rebounds like it was second nature.

I was physical. Sometimes too physical — and that was a problem. I was always in fights. I hated being grabbed, fouled, pulled. I didn’t like the constant contact. But what I did like… was the escape.

Basketball was a break from what I was facing at home.
Sports — all of them — were my way out.
Out of the yelling.
Out of the chaos.
Out of the pain.

My mother’s drinking had grown worse by the time I hit 9th grade. She had stopped working and decided to be a stay-at-home mom. But most days, she wouldn’t get out of bed until noon, and by then, the cycle had already begun. Drinking. TV. More drinking. By the time I got home after games or practices, she had often been drinking for hours.

I remember one night in particular.
My dad was working overtime, which always made things worse. He didn’t make it to my game, so I took the bus home. I used the back door, as always, to avoid any unnecessary attention. But she was there, in the den. And that night, like so many others, she picked a fight.

She was angry that I wasn’t wearing a coat.
I said, “Yes, ma’am.”
She took that as disrespect.

I tried to retreat to my room — to be quiet, to avoid confrontation. But she followed me. She hit me with a 2-liter bottle of Coke. I was sitting on my bed. She was 5’6″, and by then, I was almost 5’9″. I could have overpowered her. I wanted to. But she was still my mother. And she was sick.

That night, like many nights, I turned the other cheek.

I showered. I ate. And then she locked me in my room by jamming a chair under the doorknob — her go-to move when she wanted a reaction. But I had already learned the game. I wasn’t playing checkers. I was playing chess. Mental chess.

That’s when I truly discovered the power of the mind.
That’s when I learned what mental toughness meant.
That’s when I began to understand what it means to forgive.

From the outside looking in, we looked like the perfect family. I never had to share. I always had what I needed. But no one saw what happened behind closed doors. I was physically and mentally abused until the day I moved out at 18.

Basketball saved me.
So did volleyball.
And track.
And softball.

Sports were my outlet. My safe place. My release.

I think a lot of people don’t fully understand how sports can literally save a child’s life. For me, it wasn’t about trophies or scholarships. It was about sanity. It was about freedom. It gave me something to focus on. Something to strive for. Something that wasn’t pain.

Sports were my sanctuary.

And for that, I’ll always be grateful.

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