Single Mom (35 page)

Once we made it out of the exit door, their star shooting guard hollered, “Aw’ight, Jay! I’ll catch you later, man!”

“Aw’ight, Speed!” Jay yelled back at him.

I got curious. I asked, “Is he going to college next year?”

“Yeah, he signed at Illinois already,” Jay answered excitedly.

“So his grades are good to go then.”

Jay said, “Yeah, his mom had him taking college courses during the summertime.”

I grinned. “Good idea. Maybe we need to do that with you.” Suddenly I had new respect for their star shooter,
and
for his parents. They had him on the ball.

I wanted copies of Little Jay’s report card, but I wasn’t going to ask him about it. I was planning on waiting to ask his mother. I couldn’t let the same thing that happened to me happen to my son, even if he had to sit out a year to focus on what he needed to do in the classroom. I’d rather him hate me early and love me later on than to be all lovey-dovey while he screwed up his grades and ended up not being eligible for college in four years.

Of course, Little Jay and Jamal were still talking about the game while we were on our way to the bus stop. All I could think about was the future and academics. It was beating in my head like a drum. I almost wished that I could trade places with my son and do the work for
him. It’s amazing how hard some people can work when they mature and are given a second chance. Most young folks don’t understand how long this so-called short life can be if you make all the wrong decisions. Funny how times flies when you’re having fun, but when you make the wrong decisions, time just stands still. Too bad I had to go to jail before I realized it.

When we got to the bus stop, I looked to my son and asked, “Your mom told you what happened to
my
basketball career, right?” I had already told Jamal my sad story. But I didn’t want either one of them to pity me. I wanted them both to learn from my mistake and not make the same in their lives.

“Yeah,” my son answered. “She was just talking about it again last night.”

I nodded to him. “Good. Because neither one of us wants to see that same thing happen to you. You hear me? Neither one of wants to see that.”

Little Jay looked me in the eye like a man and responded, “Yeah, me either.”

I said, “All right then. You make sure that it don’t. Because this is
your
life, right?”

He nodded. “Yeah.”

I reached out to shake his hand again. “Okay then, son. That’s all I’m gonna say to you about it.”

I knew damn well that I was lying! That wasn’t all I was going to say to him. I planned to ride his talented ass for four years if I had to. I wanted to watch my son play ball in the NCAA tournament on a big-screen TV. Damn I wish he had my last name! Anyway, that wasn’t just
my
dream. To play in the sixty-four-team tournament was something I’m sure that my son wanted more than anyone. And after four years of playing college ball, if he made it to the pros, we would
both
be making it.

I had changed my mind about young guys going pro right out of high school. A lot of them needed the maturity of going through four years of college, not to mention learning the academic and life skills that they would need later on in their lives, even if they
did
go pro. I was tired of hearing about star dummies with money, and I damn sure didn’t want my boy to become one. Nor did I want him walking away from the game talking that coulda, woulda, shoulda garbage. There were a million guys walking around, talking that “I could have” shit. I know that for a fact, because
I
was one of them. So if my son loved the game of basketball
like I thought he did, then I wanted him to be ready to do whatever he had to do to make sure he was able to play the game for as long as he wanted to play. For the guys who made it, I realized that it had
more
to do with attitude, and less to do with their talent. Because every baby out of the womb comes into this world with some kind of talent, yet it’s only those who take the extra steps they need to take to succeed who strike the gold.

When I got back to Kim’s place with Jamal, it was eight o’clock. To my surprise, Kim was stretched out on the living room couch watching television.

I looked at her and asked, “What happened at work?”

“I had a headache, so I came home early.”

“You took some Tylenol?”

“Yup.”

“How long you been here?”

“About twenty-five minutes.”

I took my jacket off and smiled. “So I guess we’re all here for the night,” I commented. It seemed like Kim and I were always running around doing our own separate things. I guess that’s how most working couples are. I didn’t know, because I had rarely been in a relationship long enough to find out. I had been like a revolving door with women,
and
with jobs.

Jamal ran over and grabbed his miniature basketball and tried to dunk it on the refrigerator.

“What the hell is wrong with you, boy?!” his mother yelled at him. Then she looked at me and said, “See,
you’re
the one who got him all crazy about this basketball. That’s probably why I have a headache now.”

I said, “Jamal, calm down and get something to drink.”

“I’m not thirsty.”

“Well, get
me
something to drink then, and pour it in a big glass.”

I made room and sat down next to Kim on the couch, where I began to massage her feet.

She got into it and moaned, “Mmm, that feels good.”

I looked at her and smiled. I whispered, “Too bad the boy’s still up and I have to be to work soon, hunh?”

Kim said, “Tell me about it. I’ve been wanting you to change that damn night shift for a while now.”

That was news to me. Jamal brought me my drink, cherry Kool-Aid, filled to the rim. Then he spilled some of it while handing it to me.

“Watch what you’re doing, boy!” Kim yelled at him again.

I took a sip to level the drink off and shook my head. “Why do you have to holler at him so much,” I asked her.

“Because he’s hardheaded.”

“He listens to
me
without hollering.”

Kim looked at me and grinned. “That’s exactly why these hardheaded boys need their fathers around.”

I couldn’t argue with that. Jamal definitely listened to me more than he did his mom. If she learned how to control her emotions, he would have respected her as much as he respected me. It was the same way with
my
mother. I believe that had my father been around and healthy, my two brothers would still be alive. A lot of women wasted too much energy when trying to reprimand their sons with shouting and nickel-and-diming, which only showed their boys how powerless and frustrated they were. Since I was a boy once, I understood that the dramatic approach rarely worked. In fact, the less you said, the more they listened, as long as you were consistent about what you wanted from them. Fathers who overdid it found their sons ignoring them like they would a woman. I was going to make sure that would never be the case with me. I wasn’t going to stand for that shit! I had been through far too much in my life to be ignored. And I
knew
how to get a kid’s attention if I had to, but I didn’t want to take things to that harsh physical end. I wanted to use my mind and life experiences.

I felt more connected to Jamal by the minute. It made me feel good inside to be looked up to and respected so much without having to break somebody’s face in half. I figured it was a stronger example of a
real
man, one who could get respect
without
violence.

Kim noticed my thoughtful mood and asked, “What are you thinking about?”

I paused for a minute to finish my thoughts. I said, “I’m just thinking about the difference in how men raise kids as compared to women. I mean, you know how that saying goes, ‘Mothers love their sons, and raise their daughters.’”

Kim responded, “Well, I don’t have any daughters, so I couldn’t tell you.

“How did your mother treat you?” I met Kim’s mother, and she seemed like a pretty nice woman. She never did say anything about my
jail time. Maybe Kim never mentioned it to her. Why should she? I guess I had to stop thinking about it so much myself.

Kim sighed. “She got on my damn nerves,” she answered me. “She was always comparing us and shit. ‘Why don’t you do your homework like your sister? Why you gotta hang out so late? Gelencia doesn’t.’ And I was just tired of that shit.”

Kim had a younger sister who lived in Cleveland. She was single with no kids and had a nice job with the gas company. She looked damned good, too, all the way around, face, hair,
and
body! Sometimes I found myself staring at the pictures that sat around the house whenever Kim wasn’t at home.

I asked, “How come your sister ain’t married or something?”

Kim gave me the evil eye. “Why, you want to buy her a ring?”

I started to chuckle. “Naw.”

“Well, she ain’t married for the same reason I ain’t married. Everybody wants to sleep around and leave,” Kim answered me. “I remember when she first got her virginity taken,” she commented. “She swore up and down that she was gonna be with this one guy forever. And I said, ‘Gelencia, just because you gave him some doesn’t mean that he’s gonna marry you.’ But she was just so damn naive! A damn
nerd!
She should have kept her legs closed.”

I smiled and asked, “And what about you?”

“What about me?”

“Should you have kept your legs closed?” I asked in low tones. Jamal was still in the room shooting hoops.

Kim said, “No. And I’m not ashamed of nothing I’ve done either. You live and you die.”

I thought about that.
You live and you die
. “Damn! Is that all we do?” I asked her.

She hunched her shoulders at me and said, “Eat … drink … shit … fuck … work—”

I cut her off and said, “Watch your mouth around your boy. You just say
anything
around him.”

She smiled and responded, “Aren’t you just a saint,” mocking me.

“Can you go a day without cussing?” I asked her.

“Can you go a day without talking about basketball?”

Right as she asked me, Jamal’s ball bounced off of his plastic rim and knocked my glass from the coffee table and onto the floor. It was a good thing I had finished my Kool-Aid.

Kim said, “See? He’s ’bout to give me
another
damn headache!”

I said, “Jamal, give me that ball.” He looked at me and slowly handed it over. “You’ve played enough for tonight. All right? We’ll play again tomorrow,” I told him.

He looked around like he didn’t know what to do with himself. I said, “Go bring me your homework so we can look it over again with your mother.”

Kim looked at me and frowned. I was waiting for her to say something negative, but she didn’t. I was looking forward to reprimanding her if she did. You should always want to go over a kid’s homework, especially when they’re young. Hell, that’s when it’s the easiest! Because by the time Jamal made it to high school, we probably wouldn’t be able to help him. It was smart to get him off to a positive start.

Jamal was still hesitant.

I said, “You want to go down to the gym tomorrow, right?”

He nodded his head. “Yes.”

“Well, go get your homework then.”

As soon as he ran into his room to get his black-and-white notebook, Kim smiled and said, “Now you’re gonna bribe my son.”

“So what? It worked, didn’t it? Kids need to be rewarded for doing their homework anyway.”

“Oh, so you’re gonna reward him with basketball?”

“Yeah. What’s wrong with that?”

Kim shook her head as Jamal came back out with his book. She said, “What’s this thing with men and basketball anyway? It’s like a damn religion or something.”

I snapped, “Oh, don’t tell me you wasn’t jumping up and down when Flo-Jo was smoking people in the hundred-yard dash years ago. So what about that? And women and this ice skating stuff, what about that?”

“That’s different,” she said with a grin.

I nodded. “That’s what I thought,” I told her. I said, “It’s just amazing to me how women will complain about men and sports, as if we’re supposed to be doing something else. I mean, what are we supposed to do, go clothes shoppin’ and read boring-ass books on relationships? It just makes sense to me that the more women get into sports, the more they’ll be able to relate to their men. So take a note or two on that.”

“Yeah, whatever. They still don’t wanna marry you,” Kim responded. “They just want to hang out, eat your food, take your kid to a few ball games, and start pulling on your clothes whenever they want some.”

“Yeah, and they also pay half of the rent, look out for the kids, lay some mean wood when they need to, and make damn good company!” I snapped back at her. We had only been in our new arrangement for a couple of months, and already she was talking the “M” word. I wondered how long I was going to have to put up with that. But it
was
my fault. I was the dummy who started talking about it by asking about her sister.

We both chuckled at our humor. Then I took Jamal’s notebook. I held his basketball up in the air with my left hand and his book in my right.

I said, “What hand do you shoot the ball with?”

Jamal held his hands up and did a demonstration. He looked confused for a minute. He said, “I shoot with both hands.”

Kim started laughing. I guess my approach was going to take more than I thought to get my point across.

I said, “Okay, which hand do you
push
the ball with?”

He held his hands up and demonstrated again. “Oh, with
this
hand,” he said, excited.

“That’s your right hand,” I told him. Then I put his book in his right hand and the ball in his left. “Now which hand comes first?” I asked him.

He paused. “My right hand,” he answered correctly.

I said, “That’s right. Because you’re right-handed. Now which hand comes second?”

“My left hand.”

“That’s right. And in your
right
hand, your
first
hand, is what?”

He looked and said, “My Schoolbook.”