EllRay Jakes Stands Tall by Sally Warner

Author:Sally Warner
Language: eng
Format: epub
Publisher: Penguin Young Readers Group
Published: 2016-03-10T16:20:36+00:00

14

HERE WE GO

My fancy footwork has failed me.

“You say you should naturally be good at basketball,” Dad says, his voice quiet. “And just why is that, son?”

Unfortunately, I am unable to delete what I just said from Dad’s mental hard drive, so I have to answer his question. “Because just look at the Lakers and the Clippers,” I say, naming Los Angeles’s two professional basketball teams. “They have tons of players with brown skin. They really do. So my friends at school must kind of expect me to be good at it, too. I expect me to be good at it.”

And—here we go. My dad is really touchy about skin color, mostly because there aren’t that many people with brown skin in Oak Glen, California.

But he should have thought of that before we moved here, shouldn’t he?

This is all his fault!

Dad clears his throat. “You are fortunate enough to have many career paths that will be open to you, son,” he says, pinning me to the back of my chair with a look. “And certainly not just professional sports. You will finish primary school, and middle school, and high school,” he announces. “And then you’ll graduate from college. After that, we’ll see.”

“But I could be playing basketball that whole time, couldn’t I?” I ask. “Having fun? Getting some exercise?”

“Sure, if you love the sport,” Dad says. “But not because of the color of your skin, or because of what people expect you to be good at. And there are other sports as well, EllRay. There’s tennis, and golf, and baseball, for example.”

“Us kids like basketball,” I mumble, not meeting his eyes. “B-ball.”

“‘We kids like basketball,’” he corrects me. “You would say, ‘We like basketball,’ remember. That’s the test.”

“And I’m okay at the drills,” I continue, ignoring the grammar lesson. “So far, anyway. But when it comes time for us to play, I’ll be scampering around like a hamster on an exercise wheel while everyone else gets to shoot baskets,” I say.

“‘Like a hamster,’” Dad repeats, blinking at me from behind his glasses. “That’s how you see yourself, son?”

“Not all the time,” I say. “Just some of the time.”

“Well, here’s my advice to you,” Dad says, stretching. “Enjoy the game as much as possible, for now. All the ball-tossing, and the coaching, and so on. Squeeze out every drop of fun that you can, while you can. Because there’s nothing any of us can do about how tall you will grow, or when—no matter how much we love you.”

“I know you love me,” I mumble, cringing back into my chair.

Geez. I wasn’t asking for mush.

“And your mom and I will be on the lookout for some other sports you might enjoy,” Dad says. “With basketball, not instead of basketball,” he adds, before I can object. “It’s always good to have a team sport you enjoy and a solo sport, too. One that will last a lifetime.”

He sounds pretty sure of himself. “What’s your solo sport, Dad?” I ask, watching my foot move the kickball back and forth on the rug.

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