SuperNova Afterglow: End Of Days

Not tall enough

You know, being 6'2" has always seemed a shortcoming for one such as I who had dreams of basketball stardom. I think my limitations were all in my head when I felt I needed to be taller, at least 6'5", to make something of myself as a professional athlete. It would have made things easier for one who did not have the necessary/desired encouragement until it was too late to find himself among the redwoods on the hardwoods.

Now comes my son. He's always been a big boy and we did his height predictions early on that said he might be 6'5" when he's done growing. He's always been in the 99th percentile for height and weight. His mom and I are both tall and both enjoy basketball with the ability to teach him everything we know, but he has shown little interest so far.

For me, there wasn't much else to distract me growing up. It was basketball or baseball while cartoon programs were only shown on Saturday morning. My parents made me play outside every day until the sun went down. Not the same any more. Everyone is vying for our children's attention while my little one keeps growing out of his shoes as his feet turn flatter and pigeon-toed.

Recently, Alex had his yearly appointment with the doctor and we got his official measurements. I decided to do one more height predictor on Parents.com. The results only remind me how cruelly ironic parental expectations can become dashed.

Though he's 5'5" (and 1/4) and weighs 128 pounds on his 11th birthday, he apparently still has a lot of growing to do. Parents.com gave me the results with the message, "Congratulations! Your baby has a good chance of being 6'10" tall."

o_0

Why you gotta do me like that God? Can't I somehow impose my will for him that he might live out my dreams by being the basketball athlete I was with the potential to be something I wasn't. Even if he could play first string in college (for my ol' buddy Tom Izzo), it would be heaven sent.

We know we are not supposed to force our kids into life choices, but can't I steer him in this one direction...somehow, someway?

He's brilliant and could learn complex schemes: he's top 5% for his age group in math in the state of Wisconsin putting him in the accelerated program. He's an avid reader who won his school spelling bee. More than musically proficient, he's played piano since five and plays beautifully.  I want a well-rounded life for him, rather than one washing dishes or raking coals from a furnace. He could have a college scholarship and the athletic life, if I could just get him off Star Wars and Legos and into a Packer's jersey and a pair of orthopedic high tops.

There's your irony.

Twist of fate that I should be the one pounding a ball into the floor three days a week in hopes of being in the best shape when he's ready for those one-on-one match-ups in our driveway. I'll stay the course a little longer, waiting for divine intervention. I needed someone to idolize growing up and found Lew Alcindor and Johnny Bench, but Darth Vader?! He's just made up. But isn't the idolatry of athletes also a bit fictionally driven?

I'm guessing the people who market icons nowadays find real people too disappointing or ordinary. If I could just unmask all the fake ones and show him a real role model, maybe there's a chance.

By the way, it's not me. I've taken him to the gym and let him watch me play. He just wants to leave 15 minutes after we arrive.  If I could dunk the ball again like I did 25 years ago, I'm sure his chin would drop to the floor. But watching an old guy in goggles, patellar knee straps and bandana swishing a three-pointer doesn't cut it.

6'10?! I hope he doesn't expect any more piggy back rides.