I was surprised to see a young couple sitting near him that night. The truth was that the extra room also made it harder to tell that people were uncomfortable sitting close to him. The crowd was sparse up there, which he said gave more room for a man of his considerable size to spread out, stand every few minutes, and stretch his back. He was sitting in the remote upper lip of the bleachers, in his usual spot, away from everyone else. I ran down to the other end of the court and posted up under the basket, and I caught him out of the corner of my eye. Dad's voice was hoarse from screaming, but I could still tell it was him, because no one else there would bother to remind me to follow my shot or get my hands up for defense. Every time I sank the ball, I could hear a lone deep voice begin to cheer a full second before the rest of the bleachers chimed in. And it made me want to die.Īt the game, I'd scored twenty-two points, which already topped my personal best by a basket, and I showed no signs of slowing down. What started with an accident on the court ended with the single most devastating look I ever got from my father. My destiny began to unfurl during my very last game at school. I always knew I was different, but until I discovered I had my own story, I never thought I was anything special. I NEVER THOUGHT I'd have a story worth telling, at least not one about me.
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