hoop dreams.

Olly,

Cleveland used to be a basketball city. By the time you are reading this, that will probably seem like a long time ago. For seven seasons, Lebron James, the number one overall draft pick, revived the Cleveland Cavaliers and brought us close to a championship, or at least the finals, or at least the playoffs. Then, earlier this year, he announced he would be playing for another team. The city of Cleveland at large (including Daddy) were up in arms, insisting this was about loyalty and betrayal. Others, like myself, have since suggested this was actually a fable about not putting all your eggs in one basket(ball) and why televised sports should not be that big of a deal to one's daily life.

Whether you like it or not, at some point in your young life, you will probably be on a basketball team. Grandpa, Daddy, and Uncle Alex all play/ed basketball and they have designs on you, my dear. So I hope that you do like it, and are good at it, and are friends with the coach's son, and are tall, or some combination of those, mostly that you enjoy it. I, of course, would not mind if you were a tap dancer, or a writer, or into web design, or something quieter and more creative.

If it sounds like we are trying to (gently) force our interests on you, that is because we kind of are. Maybe because we want you to succeed where we failed, or because we want you to experience the same fun we enjoyed at those activities, or because we want to have something in common with you. But don't feel like you can't say no. We will still love you the very same if you do not go varsity as a freshman, or take creative writing workshops, or any of that.

But while we are on the topic, two things. One, I think you are going to be a lefty, which I am pumped about because lefties (a.k.a. "Southpaw"--weird) are supposed to be more creatively minded, in addition to being rare (a.k.a. special, which you already are, duh). But also, Daddy met John Wall, see below. Who is this year's number one overall draft pick, see above. And when he met him, he also snagged you the headband of some Wizard named Al Thorton. It was all damp and sweaty when he brought it home for you, sick.

So I guess you owe him at least one season of Little League, or whatever the basketball equivalent is.

Sorry, pumpkin.
Love, Mama