One of my favorite cousin's plays basketball professionally. He is 9 days older than me so I have watched with great admiration the evolution of his career. When we were little all the cousins and kids from the block would go down the street to the park to hoop. It was a thing. My family is large and overrun with really tall males whose parents kept them out of trouble by keeping them in sports. So sports are a thing in my family, especially track and basketball. At one of my cousin's houses we raised the hoop to 10 feet in order to learn to dunk. The theory being that if you can dunk at 10 feet you can dunk on anything. For my male cousins that decided to pursue a higher education, sports paid for it lock, stock and barrel.
When we were little everyone would get together and play for the love of the game. The neighborhood kids would come over and ball lasted all night. Or at least until the food was ready and the street lights came on. I personally never played when the neighborhood kids were around, although I could, because I understood very early that no matter what their mouths say, boys do not like to be beaten by a girl at "boy" things. Fair enough- I get pissed if a guy can out-cook me.
As my cousin got recruited to play by other people I noticed that he played less and less with the kids in the neighborhood. At first I attributed it to him not loving the game anymore. But that wasn't it. I have watched him ball long enough to know that it's in his blood. Then I thought that he was maybe getting snooty. But again when I went home we would kick it at the club with all the usual people from around the block so that wasn't it. Everybody was still cool.
So I stopped to listen. As I listened I understood. Now that my cousin had a little fame and a little shine it became the neighborhood ambition to try to beat him. Everyone wanted to say that they had beaten the Great (insert name here- gotta respect family privacy) in a game of Street Ball! It was no longer about the love of the game for them, it was about making themselves feel better by trying to make him feel worse.
What they didn't understand, and I did, was that he was working his butt off. When they were kickin it- he was on the court. When they were playin with the girls from the block- he was on the court. When they were gettin high- he was on the court. When they were playin video games- he was on the court. When they were sleepin in- he was on the court. He paid for his place in the universe with blood and sweat and some tears. I knew that they could never touch my cousin, not because he was just better, but because he was hungry and worked for it. No excuses.
That seems to happen often in my family. My Grandmother raised a phenomenal breed. The expectation she passed down was be the best. No excuses. But be the best you. This is from a woman who ran a Juke Joint, distilled hooch, and didn't hesitate to shoot at her husband when occasion called for it. She was also a skilled nurse in a time that Black nurses usually didn't treat White patients. So our parents instilled in us the belief that no one is better than you, not ever. Do what you want, be who you want, the sky is the limit. And leave the excuses at the door. Nobody cares.
When you have that running through your veins it makes it impossible to aspire to mediocre. You compete with yourself. And that enables you to always set new record. When you race yourself, you forget about the rest of the world and ultimately you end up leaving it far behind. It's a gift and a curse.
Like my cousin and the host of family around me, I strive for excellence in everything. Not out of a sense of competition but out of curiosity. Who am I when I am my best? What is my best? Because who doesn't want to be the best? Who is good at good enough? Who doesn't want to see what they can accomplish at full speed then faster still? It's fun and it's freeing.
Like my cousin and the host of family around me, I struggle to understand when the world decided that I was a target to get knocked off of my proverbial throne. I really don't understand why a) anyone thinks I care and b) why it's a good game and c) why anyone thinks that I would waste time sitting on a throne... It doesn't occur to me (until blatantly put in my face) that people see me as- I don't know, a threat? competition? a target?? I really don't see the sport in that. And frankly, it seems like a bad use of time. I'm so imperfect. I have so much growing to do. I am nothing in comparison to what I could be, to whom I want to be. I am not great or even really very good. I am tenacious. And I work hard for it.
I suppose the trouble with being a superhero is that some bad guy always wants to prove that you have weaknesses. Make themselves feel better by proving that the superhero isn't impermeable. But the superheros already know that. They just want to do the right thing to the best of their ability with the tools available to them. There should be no penalization in that. But there is. What a silly world.
What is that quote, "Small minds discuss other people. Average minds discuss things. Great minds discuss ideas."? Something like that. Maybe it's comparable to "Insecure people measure themselves against other people, Mediocre people measure themselves against what they have, Great people measure themselves against who they could be if they really hard worked at it."
And ya know, I really don't care if anyone else wants to be small or average or mediocre or great. I just wish they wouldn't be so mean spirited and silly in the words that they choose to utter to make themselves feel better. But I don't know. Maybe that's all that they have. Mean words and spite.
Sad.
Kat Williams says, "Don't be mad at the Haters, that's their job, to hate. If you got 5 Haters today you need to have 10 by this time next year...." Man that's exhausting, who has the kind of time that enables you to keep count? I guess I'll just blog it out and move on. I have bigger fish to fry.
I've wasted enough time complaining about it. Life awaits.
And nobody really cares anyway.
Thanks Granny.
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