From Ballet Slippers to Basketballs

Hurriedly walking down the hallway, I glanced at a fluorescent orange sign with a bold basketball in the heading. I ran out to recess without a second glance. For the next few days, I kept ignoring the bright sign on the bulletin board. On that Friday in early October of my fifth grade year, I finally took the time to stop and scrutinize the sign. It was advertising a try-out for the school fifth-grade basketball team. Making sure the date was written in my notebook, I walked outside to go play foursquare. Little did I know that I would be seeing more basketballs in the future.

Brrriiiiiinnnggg! The humming bell announced the end of the school day. I rushed to be one of the first students to get out of class; I had to get to my dance lessons on time. The last couple of rehearsals I was late, because the hallway was in a standstill traffic jam. Hoping I wouldn’t be late again, I speed walked down the damp street. I swiftly changed into my leotard, tights, and ballet slippers to get ready for my lyrical class. This was an advanced class, so it was one hour long rather than the usual half hour class. In my lyrical class, I kept getting frustrated, because I couldn’t execute the moves flawlessly; although, I had devotedly practiced the routine and intricate dance steps for the past week. After sweating through my discouraging class, tap class was next. I had skipped a level over the summer, so I was a bit behind the other girls. They could do advanced moves better and faster than me. When my exhausting lesson was finally over, I had excruciating amounts of homework to do. I found myself dreading dance classes and looking forward to my days off.

Considering switching to basketball from dance left me in a state of ambiguity. I discussed, with my parents, the possibility of setting aside my ballet slippers and tap shoes for a pair of sneakers. They were completely blindsided by the fact that I was even thinking about changing my after school activity. They told me that I only had so much time in the day, and I couldn’t do everything. We discussed this in a crowded restaurant, so I couldn’t go into depth on the topic. As I was lying in bed that night I realized I was at a split in the road. One path would take me into unknown territory, and the other would take me into the world of ballerinas and point shoes. I knew what I needed to do, but I was afraid of the consequences of my decision.

I walked into the gym with a nervous feeling. All of these other girls had probably been playing for several years; I had never competed in a real game before. I played my heart out and left it all on the court. When I found out that I didn’t make the team, I started to cry. Finally stopping, I decided that this was only a pit in the road. I needed to make a bridge and get over it. Practicing regularly at the local gym and joining a local team, I perfected my shot form, and I learned to dribble the ball with both of my hands. The next year, when I tried out for the team, I had caught up with the rest of the girls. I still hadn’t had much experience in playing in games except on the local recreation center team. Once again, I put all of my effort in that night. While waiting for that phone call, I hoped I would make the team. So much hard work had been put into this.

Staying with my choice made me dedicated to basketball, and it finally paid off, starting with the night of the try-outs. When I made it, I quietly thanked the coach, and then I started to scream and jump up and down. I was so excited. Over the next few years, basketball brought me the opportunity to play in several national championships, and travel throughout the country and state. I gained close friends through basketball camps and clinics. Playing basketball made me become more athletic and toned. To this day, I still think I made the right choice. I’m glad I hung up my leotard and tights for a jersey and shorts.