Home Court
Authors: Amar'e Stoudemire
To my children,
Ar'e, Amar'e Jr., Assata,
and all the children of the world.
And to my brother Hazell,
I will always miss you. You are the
main reason for my success.
See you in Paradise!
T
he wheels of the skateboard made a rumbling hum as they rolled over the pavement at the little town park. I loved that sound. The world rushed by me as I zipped across the blacktop. I could feel how smooth or rough it was right through my sneakers, and it was like I was watching the park in fast-forward. The greens and browns of the grass and trees flashed by on the sides as I kept my eyes on the little concrete path in front of me, looking for the next good, flat spot. I was trying to get this one trick down, but the board wasn't cooperating. It slipped out from under me again and went bouncing across the ground.
That had been happening to me a lot lately, and I knew why. I'd had a big growth spurt this year. We're talking, like, my pants from before looked like shorts on me now. I was definitely the tallest eleven-year-old in my neighborhood, and it could be pretty tough to keep all my long limbs going in the same direction as those four little wheels. Put it this way: When I bent down to pick up the board, I had to bend a long way.
I was trying to do an ollie. What you do is pop the board into the air while you're riding it. If you do it right, it's like you're jumping with the board glued to your feet â pretty cool. I was still only doing it right about half the time, so I stayed on the path and worked on it a little longer.
My jumps were getting a little higher, and I decided to head for a bigger stretch of pavement to work on them.
“Ay-yo!” I heard as I turned a corner. I thought I might be in trouble, but when I looked up, I could see it was just the opposite. It was my friend Mike. He was on the park's old basketball court with our friend Deuce.
“What's up?” I called. This was our local court, and the three of us had spent whole days playing here together.
As I kick-turned my board onto the little walkway that led to it, they went back to playing one-on-one. I could see by the way they were moving that they'd probably been out there for a few hours already. They were going a little slower, and I could see the sun shining off some sweat on their foreheads. Deuce never went too slow for long, though. I was almost to the court when I saw him give Mike a shoulder fake and then turn on the jets. He was at the hoop in a heartbeat. Deuce wasn't a big kid, but he was fast. His first step was like a striking cobra.
“Where'd you go?” Mike shouted as Deuce turned the corner on him.
“Disappeared,” said Deuce, once he'd laid the ball up and in. “Don't you know I'm magic?”
“I know you're lucky,” Mike said as he took the ball out.
Right away, Mike started backing his way in toward the basket for an easy shot. Mike was almost as tall as me and much taller than Deuce. I was looking forward to overhearing some good trash talk. It was Deuce's best defense. But Mike caught sight of me at the edge of the court and picked up his dribble.
“Well, well, well,” said Mike. “Look who finally made it. Get over here, Amar'e!”
“Yeah, get over here and help me D up this clown!” called Deuce.
“Neither of you can stop me down low,” bragged Mike.
The sun was getting kind of low now, but come on, that was a direct challenge! I had to accept. I'd be good as long as I got home in time for dinner. My dad definitely had some ground rules, and being home on time was right up there at the top of the list. I don't know how much he had paid for his watch, but whatever it was, he got his money's worth because he was always checking it. He was never late himself, so he expected the same from me. He was fair, but tough.
“All right, all right,” I called. Like I said: It was a direct challenge. And I was hoping it wouldn't take too long to win. “I got this, no problem.”
“This kid's cocky for a skater,” said Deuce.
I had to laugh: I walked right into that one. Deuce and Mike high-fived, and I waved them off. It was good to see my friends. Mike bounced a skip pass to me as I stepped onto the court. I sprinted over and took the ball at a full run. A few quick dribbles and I laid it up. They let me take a few shots to warm up. But when I bricked my third jumper, Deuce swooped in and grabbed the rebound.
“What were you doing all this time?” he said. He zipped by me, dribbling low like he always did. He had a good handle and hated turning the ball over.
“Working on a trick,” I said. “I was over where those flat paths come together. It's good for skating.”
He nodded. Lake Wales, Florida, was a really small town. We all knew it pretty well by now, and we probably knew every inch of this park. The paths I was skating on are the same ones where we used to ride bikes. But that didn't mean Deuce accepted my excuse. “We've been here since school got out,” he said. “There were some other kids, too. They were pretty good. We could've used your skills, man.”
I put my hands up for the ball, but Deuce passed it to Mike instead. Mike clanged one off the front of the rim, but the rebound went right to him. He drained a shot from the same spot. Then he looked over.
“There were already three dudes from our class when we got here, so we had to play two-on-two and I wound up sitting out twice,” he said. “You
know
I hate sitting out.”
It was true. Mike loved to play basketball so much that he got really annoyed when he had to sit and watch other people do it.
“Sorry, Mike,” I said. I held up my hands again and he passed me the ball. “If that was right after school, I was still doing homework anyway.”
“Man, Amar'e,” said Mike. “I don't know why they stuck such a nerd brain into such a baller body.”
Deuce laughed. “What are you laughing at?” I said. “You study more than I do!”
“That's right,” he said. “They don't put just anyone on the honor roll.”
“Yeah,” I said. “I'm
honor
roll with my homework and
on a
roll when I skate.”
They both laughed at my joke. Well, okay, maybe it was more like they groaned.
“All right, high roller,” said Deuce. “Let's see if you remember how to get that thing in the hoop.”
They both got down into defensive positions in front of me. Mike clapped his hands a few times:
Bap-Bap-Bap!
I dribbled the ball hard in response:
Bomp Bomp Bomp!
We may have gotten off to a late start, but it was game on now. I dribbled hard to the left, to get Deuce in between Mike and me. With the smaller defender on me, I raised up and drained a rainbow jumper. The ball clipped the back of the metal rim as it banged through the hoop. I loved that sound, too.
I got really into the game after that. It wasn't until we finished that I realized how long we'd been playing.
Oh, man
, I thought.
I'm gonna be late!
I looked up at the sun, just above the treetops. It was like I was looking at my dad's angry face, staring right at me. I had to get home now!
B
etween skateboarding, basketball, hanging with my friends, and all the other things I liked to do after school, I didn't have enough time as it was. I definitely didn't want to get grounded.
Now that board was my only hope to get home before it was too late.
“I gotta jet,” I said.
“Yeah, me too,” said Mike. “See you guys at school tomorrow.”
“Later,” said Deuce.
They both took off. Mike lived closest, which was a good thing since he didn't have a skateboard like me or sprinter speed like Deuce. I plunked the board down on the sidewalk and got moving. The little town rolled by, but not fast enough. Some days I tapped each mailbox I passed, just to keep things interesting. Today I was all business. I had one foot on the board, and I was kicking hard with the other.
There's a stretch near my house with no sidewalk, so I took a deep breath and veered off into the little bike lane on the road. I was doing a good job of staying inside the white line, at least when it wasn't too faded to see. But I was rushing and probably not looking around as much as I should have been. A beat-up brown car shot past me a little too close.
“Watch it!” I said, kicking hard toward the curb.
“
BRawEEerEEP!
” went its broken-down horn.
Close call.
I kept my eyes peeled, and the most I had to deal with the rest of the way were a few rough spots in the sidewalk and one angry poodle. I finally reached the house. The front light was on, so I knew Dad was waiting for me inside. I grabbed my board and hustled toward the door.
As soon as I pushed it open, I could smell the pizza. It was my favorite dinner. It was my favorite lunch, too, and I was definitely open to the idea of having it for breakfast! But I was running late, so I had to hope that more than just the smell was left. My dad and older bro were both big, strong guys, and they could both eat. Let me put it this way: If you were a pepperoni pizza, you wouldn't want to be left alone in a room with them for more than three seconds.
I zoomed through the kitchen and heard a plate clink in the living room. I panicked for a second, thinking they might already be clearing the table. But I turned the corner and saw my dad just sitting down. His plate was in front of him, and the pizza box was in the center of the table, not even opened. Phew!
“You made it just in time,” said my dad, Hazell.
The pizza smell had taken over my brain for a while there, but the way he said “just in time” reminded me I was late.
“I know, I know,” I said. There was no sense in denying it, but changing the subject seemed worth a shot. I took a deep breath and added: “I didn't know we were having pizza.”
“What?” said Dad. “We've got to have a pie to get you home on time?”
I put both my hands up in front of me, like
Okay, you got me.
I snuck a look over at my older brother, Junior. He was loving this â like brothers usually do when they're not the one who's in trouble!
“Yeah,” said Dad, “while you got those hands up, you better go and wash 'em. Looks like you might have some basketball court on there.”
When I got back from the bathroom, my hands were clean and my stomach was empty. I was ready to eat, but first I had to find out how mad Dad was. I really hoped I wasn't grounded.
“You know you're late, right?” he said.
“Yes, Dad,” I said.
“And you know how hard it is to keep this one from eating everything in sight as soon as it arrives?” he said.
He hooked a thumb over toward Junior, who just rolled his eyes.
I was expecting Dad to let me have it now, but instead, his shoulders and face both kind of dropped. “But I've had enough trouble today,” he said.
He'd had a long day already, and I felt bad for making it a little longer.
“You going to be on time the rest of the week?” he asked, looking back up.
“Yeah,” I said. “I promise.”
“All right, then,” he said. “Consider this a warning.”
“Thanks, Dad,” I said.
Dad had his own lawn-care company, so a good day was one where it didn't rain, none of the equipment broke, and he got paid at the end. A bad day could be just about anything else.
“Something happen at work today?” I asked.
“Just that there was too much of it,” he said.
For a second, I thought he might leave it at that, but it turns out he did have something he wanted to get off his chest.
“Me and the guys did a real nice job on a place over by the park this morning,” he said. “Whole lawn was picture-perfect when we left. But by the time the folks who owned it got home, someone had come by and messed it all up. Left garbage out front, walked right through the bushes, stepped on some flowers, you name it.”
“Who was it?” I said.
“Don't know,” he said. “They acted like a herd of buffalo, but it was probably just some troublemakers. Looks like they were just cutting through the yard or something, but it's the third time this's happened in the last week.”
“Not cool,” said Junior.
“Seriously,” I said.
“Had to clean it up for free,” said Dad, “but at least the customers paid up for the work this morning.” We didn't have a lot of money but my dad worked hard for what he earned. He was proud of that.
It would also explain the pizza. He must've bought it on the way home to cheer himself up.
“Anyway,” he said, “let's eat.”
He reached over and opened the pizza box. The smell of fresh, hot pizza came out in a cloud. It sort of blew all the troubles away, at least for a little while. We dug in. Man, that first bite of hot pizza! And the second! Bite after bite of warm crust and melted cheese disappeared into my mouth.
For a few minutes, the only sound was chewing. Then it was time to reload. My brother and I both reached for the same slice. His hand was bigger and it boxed mine out.
“You earned it,” I said.
“Yeah,” he said, pulling his hand back, “but you got more growing to do.”
We both smiled, but I reached in fast, before he changed his mind.
“Got some quick hands there, STAT,” said my dad. He'd been waiting to get another slice himself.
STAT was my dad's nickname for me. It stood for Standing Tall And Talented. That's how he wanted me to act and who he wanted me to be, so he called me that a lot. That's who I wanted to be, too, and right then, it felt like we were all on the same page.
Junior and I were living here with Dad right now. We split time between Florida with Dad and New York with my mom. I liked it here â even when it wasn't pizza night â but I was also looking forward to visiting Mom and my half brother up there in a few weeks. Junior was five years older than me, so things were a little different for him. But mostly I think he felt the same way. And anyway, New York was nice this time of year. It was a lot cooler, that was for sure.
After dinner, I had some more homework to do. I had to finish the day-to-day stuff before I went out after school. That was Dad's rule, and he controlled the pizza. But this was a big paper for history. It was due in a week and it looked like I'd need all that time to do it.
I looked over the assignment again. I had to write about one figure from history and say how he inspires me and what he means to my everyday life. There was a long list of people to choose from, but one popped out right away: Dr. Martin Luther King, Jr. I already knew some things about him â the stuff pretty much everyone knows â and I wanted to learn more.
History was my favorite subject, but this was a big topic. I mean, where do you even start with a guy like that? I got out my history book and started reading. There was a lot of stuff about him in a big chapter on the U.S. civil rights movement. Yep, that's what I wanted to write about: Dr. King and the civil rights movement. I still wasn't sure where to start, though. Maybe I just needed some food for thought.
I walked out to the kitchen and opened the refrigerator. There were only two slices of pizza left. One was thin, and the other was almost as wide as two slices put together. My big brother was sitting at the table, drinking a glass of milk.
“Don't even think about it,” he said when I reached for the bigger slice.
I took the little slice for myself and brought the big one over to him.
“Writing a paper on Martin Luther King,” I said.
“I did that, too,” he said. “So did just about everyone else in my class.”
He was right: Everyone would pick Dr. King off that list. I'd have to figure out a way to make my paper stand out if I wanted a good grade.
“Thanks,” I said.
“For what?” he said through a mouth full of pizza: Furr whuh?
I finished my microslice and went back to my room for my next assignment. The next day was Friday, the last day of school for the week. I always tried to dress well, but especially on Fridays. When that last bell went off, I wanted to start the weekend in style! I didn't always make the best decisions first thing in the morning, so I decided to pick my outfit in advance.
I looked over my options. It's all about the shoes. I checked out my sneaker collection and narrowed it down pretty quickly to two: my best new pair of red-and-black kicks and a pair of old-school white high-tops that I brought out on special occasions. I decided to go old-school, because if Friday isn't a special occasion, I don't know what is.
With white kicks, I needed color somewhere else. I got it with a red polo shirt that had a white collar to match my sneakers and was just my size. I like my shirts to really fit, not stop a few inches above my wrists or look like a tent just collapsed on top of me. I finished it all off with a good pair of dark jeans. I looked the outfit over and shook my head: I was good to go!