Dance Into Destiny (17 page)

O
n Wednesday afternoon, Quinton stepped over to the track from the basketball court to speak to Shara. “Where are the boys for basketball practice? Didn't they know we were supposed to start today?”

Shara looked over at the court. What was he talking about? There were at least ten boys there. That was a good turnout for the first day. “Quinton, they're waiting for you over there.”

“Yeah, but they're all little boys. The oldest one is twelve. Where are the teenagers?”

“They don't participate much. They spend most of their time hanging out on the street. They don't think it's ‘cool' for them to be involved in church programs.”

Quinton walked back over to the basketball court to play with the kids that were there. Shara stepped over from the track to watch for a few minutes.

One of the young boys threw Quinton the ball and he dribbled a few times and then took off across court and did a slam-dunk. On the next play, one of the boys threw the ball up for a basket, but Quinton slammed it away, blocking the shot. On the next play, he easily stole the ball away from a boy having some difficulty dribbling. He did another slam-dunk and held on to the basket for a while.

Shara fumed on the side of the court. What was wrong with him? Did he know anything about working with kids? Was he trying to show off for her or what? She let this go on for a few more plays, and then noticed the boys getting frustrated.

She marched onto the court with her hands on her hips. “Quinton, what are you doing? You can't play with these kids like that.”

“Shara, I know what I'm doing.” He smiled. “Could you get off the court, please?”

She stood there with her hands on her hips. Who did he think he was? She had a good mind to tell him off. She couldn't believe they had hired someone who knew absolutely nothing about working with kids.

He started dribbling again and headed toward the basket.

“Minister Mercer, may I speak with you for a second?” Shara said through tight lips.

He ignored her. He did another slam-dunk and came back. “Woman, get off my court.” He grinned. “I know what I'm doing.”

Her eyes blazed at him.

His twinkled at her. He winked and then said loudly, “What? You want summa this?”

Shara stepped back. Was he challenging her openly in front of the kids? She opened her mouth to tell him off, the best way she knew how, but then noticed he was looking past her. She turned to see who he was talking to.

A large group of teenage boys had come over and had been watching Quinton play. He gestured to the court in a challenge. “What's up? You want summa this?”

They had been standing across the street on their favorite corner. Quinton must have noticed them when he first got to the court. Obviously, his showing off had been for their sake, not Shara's.

Shara recognized some of these boys. They had come to the track when she first started her program, but didn't want to be involved. They preferred to hang out in the bleachers and jeer at the ones that did participate. She remembered one day that was particularly bad.

 

“Why y'all runnin'? Ain't nobody chasing you. I don't see why anybody would want to run around in circles all day . . .” One of the older teens had said.

A few of her boys had quit the program because of their teasing. Obviously, it was important to them to maintain their respect in the neighborhood.

Shara approached the rowdy bunch and told them if they didn't want to participate, they needed to leave the track. One of them got right up in her face and sneered at her. “What you gon' do about it, Miss Church Lady? You don't run things around here, we do. You ain't runnin' nobody off this track. If I leave, it's cuz I want to. You feel me?”

Shara had the good sense to be afraid. She stood there, not knowing what to say, hoping they didn't notice her shaking.

Jamil had come to her rescue. “Yo', T man, Miss Shara cool. Don't step to her like that—she good people.” He shifted from side to side like he did when he was nervous, right before a race.

“Well man, you need to tell her not to step to me.” T-bone looked Jamil up and down. “Man, you need to come wit' me. We got some bidness to take care of.” He looked at Shara when he said ‘bidness', as if to let her know it was none of
her
business.

Jamil went into one of his little clown acts, shuffling and running, looking behind him like someone was chasing him. “Naw, man, I got to get my run on. Nigga never know when he need to run real fast. Know what I'm sayin'?” He picked up his knees and pumped his arms, running in place dramatically, as if his life depended on it. The older group cracked up.

T-bone shook his head and laughed. “Nigga, you crazy. All right stay here and get yo' run on, man. You right, you probably will need it some day.” His smile faded. “Soon, if you don't come correct.”

Shara read these last words as a threat. Jamil obviously did too, because he stopped his clown act. “I got you, man, I got you.”

They slapped hands and the older group left, each one seeming to feel the need to give Shara a threatening look as they passed. She wanted to stare each one of them down to let them know she wasn't intimidated, but Jamil elbowed her and ever-so-slightly shook his head to let her know that wasn't cool.

 

Shara didn't have time to warn Quinton about all this, because the boys had already come around the fence and were talking the talk that black men talk when they get on a basketball court—pure trash.

Quinton took off his T-shirt to reveal a basketball jersey underneath. Shara noticed his broad muscular chest and strong chiseled arms.

The boys noticed the jersey.

Their trash talking turned to praise and admiration. “Quinton Mercer? Number 37? Orlando Magic? Man, you my nigga!” one said.

Another one put his hands to his mouth. “Orlando is down two points; eight seconds left in the game; ball is in play, Anderson throws to Mercer; five seconds left on the play, Mercer comes down the inside lane; two seconds left, Mercer puts up a three pointer—whoosh! Game goes to Orlando!” Two of them slapped hands and they all cheered, barking loudly.

Quinton smiled. “Yeah, that's me, but what y'all got?”

They shuffled their feet. “Aw, man, ain't nobody ballin' wit' you. You were Pro. Yo man, what happened? You played one season and then dropped out of sight.”

Quinton put the ball down and pulled up the right leg of his long shorts. He showed them a long scar on his knee. “Tore my ACL, man. Didn't even get to finish the season.”

They all joined in expressing their version of sympathy. “Aw, man, that's whack, that's jacked up. All that hard work and trainin' . . .”

“All that money, man? You woulda been fat paid, mad cheddar, set for life. Fly crib, rollin' in a Benz, all the honeys just throwin' it at ya. Bling bling, baby!”

“Man, I'm still gonna be paid. I didn't just play ball at Arizona. I got my education.”

“Yeah right, man, whatever. What's your education got against the NBA? Education don't get you paid like that.”

“Man, life ain't all about the honeys and the bling, bling. Keep living and you'll learn that. But you li'l niggas stallin'. Ain't nobody trying to ball with an old, crippled man?” He shot the ball from where he stood at mid-court. Whoosh! All net.

The older boys looked at Shara and the younger kids gathered behind her. “If she get these babies off the court, we'll take you, man.”

Quinton nodded at Shara to take the younger kids off the court. Shara started to lead them back to the church, but they protested.

“Aw, Miss Shara, can't we watch?” one pleaded.

Another said, “We wanna see them get dropped!”

One of the older boys started toward him, like he was going to hurt him and then laughed when he darted back behind Shara. Shara stared at him, feeling confident with Quinton standing on the court with her.

“What, Church Lady? You got something to say?”

Quinton stepped in front of him. “What's up with that? Man, if I ever catch any one of y'all disrespecting Miss Shara, it's
on
; me and you.”

The teen sucked his teeth. “Why man, that yo' lady?”

“Naw, man, she ain't
my
lady, but she is
a
lady, so you treat her with respect.” Quinton bounced the ball. “Now y'all gon' ball—or fight with ladies and babies?”

 

After many games of basketball, the boys all slapped hands with Quinton.

“If y'all want some more, you can meet me back here day after tomorrow. You up for that?”

“Yeah, man, we'll be here. Friday afternoon.”

After the boys left, Quinton walked back over to where Shara stood at the edge of the court. “Looks like we have some new participants.”

Shara's eyes lit up. “We'll need to get them signed up so we can have a roster. They'll have to bring in their report cards to monitor their grades. We also have to get parental consent for them to participate, and—”

“Wait a minute, slow down. Let me get 'em hooked first. Right now, they're just ballin'. In order for them to make a commitment to making good grades and all, I need to earn their trust. Give me a little while on that, okay?”

Shara nodded. She couldn't seem to keep her eyes off Quinton's chest and arms so she decided to focus on her shoes. “I like the way you handled them. I've had a few run-ins with them that didn't go too well. They seem to respect you a lot.” She kicked at a pebble on the ground. “One thing though, do you have to call them nigger?”

“Here we go again.” Quinton pulled his shirt over his head.

“What do you mean by that?”

“First day on the job and somebody's already questioning my methods.”

“Quinton, I'm not questioning your methods. Like I said, I like the way you handled them. All I said was I don't understand why you have to use that degrading word.”

“It doesn't have to be degrading. For these guys, it's a term of endearment, brotherhood, solidarity. I have to get into their world. I can't just be a minister and quote scripture to them. Like Paul said, I have to become all things to all people.”

“Okay, if you say so.”

He tilted his head to the side. “Trust me, okay?”

The younger boys who had been on the court earlier came running over to Quinton. They had gone to the playground after they got bored watching him play the older boys.

“Mr. Quinton, we wanna play too.” They gathered around him, pulling on his shirt. “Please, can you play with us? Only don't beat us this time.”

Quinton laughed and took his shirt off again. “All right, I promise I won't beat you guys this time.” The smallest and youngest of the bunch pulled the leg of Quinton's shorts. “Mr. Quinton, can I play? They say I'm too small to play.”

Quinton squatted down to his height. “What's your name, li'l man?”

“My name Tiquan Davis, but everybody call me Li'l Booboo.”

“Tiquan Davis, do you think you're too small to play?”

The young boy stuck his chest out. “Naw. I can take all dem.”

Quinton stood up. “All right, Tiquan Davis, you can be on my team. We'll take 'em together.” He lifted Tiquan and carried him over to the court. He whispered in his ear, pointing to the court and to the basket. Tiquan nodded and grinned.

Shara watched as Quinton played with the boys. The aggression with which he'd played only moments before was now gone and he was gentle and playful. He threw Tiquan the ball and then ran over to lift him up so he could slam-dunk. He purposely missed when he shot baskets, feigning frustration at his lack of skill. He let the boys steal the ball from him while dribbling and then took a long time to catch them so they could get to the basket and shoot without any defense. When the score was tied at 7/7, he told them his knee was bothering him so they would have to leave the game tied. He lifted Tiquan up on his shoulders and declared them all winners. They all came cheering and running back over to where Shara was.

“Miss Shara, did you see us? Did you see the basket I hit? Did you see me steal the ball from Mr. Quinton? Did you see my three pointer?”

“Yeah, I saw you guys. You got game. Maybe you need to teach Mr. Quinton here some of your tricks because he looked a little sloppy out there.” Shara smiled up at Quinton who was spinning Tiquan around in circles.

“Yeah, Miss Shara. They were too much for me.” Quinton stopped and staggered, pretending to be dizzy.

“Mr. Quinton, can we start our own team too?” one of the boys asked.

“Of course. You didn't think we were going to leave you guys out did you?”

They ran shouting back to the church building.

Shara called out after them, “You guys get your stuff together and get loaded up in the van so we can get you home.”

“Yes, Miss Shara,” they screamed back.

“Looks like you got yourself two basketball teams. Can you handle that with everything else?” Shara looked down at her feet again, hoping Quinton would put his shirt back on.

“That's what I'm here for. It's my full time job. I get concerned about you, though. I don't see how you do everything here
and
school. I remember how difficult it was for me. It doesn't get to be too much?”

“Are you kidding? This is what keeps me going. Every time I get overwhelmed with school, I spend time with my kids and remember why I'm in school. It actually makes it easier, focusing on the purpose for it.”