My Novel

My Novel

A few years ago I bought a real basketball goal - weighted base support, stanchion-pole, backboard, rim, and net. It's the kind that is currently a requisite in every kid's driveway across America. I bought it for Emma, Eddie and Johnnie. At the time I was concerned that the project was a bit premature as Emma, the oldest, was but six. Then there's Ed at four and John, one-plus.

Not exactly a dribble-ready crew.

But I got it anyway – Grandpas can’t wait. Then I lugged it home and worked from noon until dark, struggling mightily to bolt it together. Still I didn't come close to finishing that first day.

As usual, I became concerned that I was spending all of this time, the whole day, and now a second day, on the BB project. I had so many other things to do. Then I thought about it. If this was my last day on earth what would I have rather done - put up the basketball rim and backboard or pretend to write the great American novel?

I’d take the former. That's my novel.

Such is life for me, a blessing.

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I recognize the blessing of children, as giving meaning to one's life, but what about those without children? I have to think that they can still find as strong a love, but then I'm not in their shoes. Truthfully, I don't know. What I do know is that love for one’s children is a unique blessing in that it reveals love in the ideal, unrequited form, and it’s forever – unconditional. 

 
As for a basketball goal at my own home, not the grandchildren's, I searched the town for a bushel basket, which I found at the plant store. I strapped it with bungee cords to the tree out front bordering the street, thereby re-creating an original "basket" goal from the “birth of basketball” era. I tossed a light weight ball to Ed and Emma and watched them dribble around and take various shots. It brought a smile to my face and a feeling of real accomplishment.

Call it my second novel - or short story maybe?