Single Mom (50 page)

“Yeah, I heard,” Denise’s new friend responded.

“I hear you drive eighteen-wheelers.” It just jumped out of my mouth. I didn’t even think about it.

“That’s what I do,” he answered.

I backed down and said, “Yeah, I hear you, man. I move tons of paper around at night. As long as it pays the bills, right?”

“Actually, I’ve gotten a chance to travel quite a bit. You know, trucking takes you all around the country.”

“Yeah, I bet it does.”

He looked over to Jamal and asked me, “Is this your other son?”

I started to answer, then I stopped to think about it. I figured,
Why not ask Jamal?
I said, “Jamal, are you my son?”

I caught the little guy off guard. I almost wished that I could take that question back, but Jamal smiled and nodded his head anyway. “Yeah,” he said. He reminded me of a little girl who had just agreed to having her first boyfriend.

I looked at Denise’s new friend and said, “Yup, this is my other boy then.” I was about to ask if Walter was his boy, but I knew better than that. The brother seemed pretty likable. There was no sense in making an enemy out of a guy who was just trying to be a part of Denise’s life. I wouldn’t feel too happy about Jamal’s father sticking his nose into my business with Kim. In fact, I’d probably want to kick his ass if he had something smart to say to me. And in regards to his son, I
know
that Jamal liked me, but he never even talked about his real father. On the other hand, Little Jay always had a connection to me, so no man could have come in and established himself as a father figure with my boy, and that included Mr. Truck Driver. Nevertheless, I had nothing against the guy.

He said, “You think these guys can go all the way?”

He was talking basketball again. I guess he had the right idea. Basketball was safe common ground between us. Anything else could lead to
embarrassment for either one of us. I didn’t want him talking about his relationship with Denise any more than he wanted me talking about my son, or his lack of a son. Then again, I didn’t know if he had kids or not.

I said, “Well, we’ll see. You planning on being here?”

“If I can make it,” he answered.

I didn’t see the harm in it. The more support Little Jay could get in the stands, the better. Although, I didn’t think he would need any extra support, because the students at Belmont Creek were already in his corner. They could clearly see that he was a rising star, and he was theirs for another three years.

Little Jay came out from the locker room and looked shocked to see me and his mother’s friend together. I could tell right then that Mr. Truck Driver had simply popped up at the game. If Little Jay had been expecting him, he wouldn’t have looked so surprised. Again, I didn’t see any harm in it.

I made sure that I was the first to speak to my son, however. “Good game, man,” I told him. “But it won’t get any easier. The play-offs are step-up time.”

Mr. Truck Driver nodded and remained in the background.

“Yeah, they couldn’t handle our zone defense,” Little Jay responded to me. Then he looked to Mr. Truck Driver and said, “Dad, this is Mr. Dennis Brockenborough, my mom’s friend,” as if we hadn’t been standing there talking to each other.

I smiled. “Yeah, I just met him. He’s an all-right guy. He wants to know if your team has what it takes to go all the way.”

Little Jay smiled back. “I guess we’ll see,” he said.

I nodded and grinned.
Like father like son
, I thought to myself. “Yeah,” I said, “that’s exactly what I told him.”

Jamal asked, “Little Jay, can I get trophies in the summer league?”

My son looked surprised. First he said, “It’s
Big
Jay to you.” Then he answered, “Yeah, you can get a lot of trophies in the summer leagues.”

“Or, if your grades aren’t right, you could end up in
summer school
,” I added.

Walter overheard it and smiled. “I never been to summer school,” he bragged.

“That’s good,” I told him. I really wanted to say, “So what?” Like father like son with him, too. That never-been-to-summer-school stuff sounded like something
his
father would say. Then again, what was so wrong with being proud of your schoolwork? I was sure proud of Little
Jay’s grades,
and
Jamal’s. I just wished I could have realized how important schoolwork was when I was their age.

Brock said, “Well, we’ll see you later on, Jimmy.”

Jamal looked confused. “Your real name is Jimmy?” he asked my son.

Little Jay nodded. “Yeah.”

“Do they call you J.D., too?”

Sometimes kids can kill you with their innocence. They just don’t realize what they’re saying sometimes.

Little Jay looked at me and shook his head, but he never answered the question. He would have been a J.S., and that didn’t even sound right.

“I’ll see you at home, Little Jay,” Walter said, teasing his older brother. Then he and his new bodyguard started heading out the door.

“You like him?” I asked my son, referring to Brock. It was obvious that Brock was around them enough.

Little Jay nodded. “Yeah, he’s all right. What do
you
think?”

I smiled. My son didn’t know how pleased I was for him to ask me my opinion. He really looked as if he cared, too. I loved it!

I said, “First of all, how does he treat your mother?”

“
Real
good,” he answered.

I nodded. Jamal went and grabbed someone’s ball and starting heaving it at the nearest basket. Little Jay began to laugh. I was standing there daydreaming. I thought about how it could have been if I had done right with his mother. I hated when I thought about that, because it was nothing that I could do to change things. I had even made an oath to call her Denise for my New Year’s resolution, and so far I was doing a damn good job at it.

“Dag, he making them,” my son told me, still watching Jamal.

I looked over at Jamal and watched him shooting and dribbling as others watched and marveled. He was not even seven, and he could shoot the ball over his head like a teenager. Many teenagers lacked the form that he had.

I shook my head and felt guilty again. What would have happened if Little Jay couldn’t play basketball? Would I have cared as much as I did about him? Would I have been as involved? Denise had asked a good question.

I said, “Jay, have you ever felt that I was using you with this basketball thing?”

He looked at me as if I were drunk. “
Using me?
How?”

“You know, with my excitement for you playing basketball and all.”

He smiled. “Naw. I mean, I’m not making any money off it, and I don’t know if I will,” he said. “If I don’t make the pros, then I’m not going overseas to play. I’ll just find something else to do.”

I looked at my son and laughed. I was laughing because I was proud of him. He had a realistic perspective on things, and realism always helped people to focus.

I joked and said, “That’s your mom talking, ain’t it?”

“It’s the truth though,” he told me. “I got a long way to go before I start thinking about that. Right now I’m just thinking about the play-offs and school.”

I said, “What about girls?”

“Oh, yeah,” he said with a sly grin, “I meant to tell you; remember that girl I told you who was in my algebra class.”

We had gotten a chance to talk more in detail about his social life. “The one who runs cross-country track?” I asked. She was the only girl he had mentioned.

Little Jay said, “Yeah.”

I thought about my own relationship with Kim, but Kim was a sprinter. “What about her?” I asked him. I thought he was ready to tell me that he made it to home base with her. I had mixed emotions about that. On the one hand, as a guy, I thought it would have been nice to hear that my boy had scored, but as a father who had been through it all, I was terrified of my son getting some girl pregnant before he even graduated from high school. He
definitely
didn’t need to go there. So I prepared myself for a detailed discussion about protection, traps, sexual responsibility, and everything else that I could think of.

“She wants to go see a movie with me this weekend.”

I was relieved, so relieved that I broke out laughing. I said, “A movie, hunh? Well, you remember what I told you. You take your time. This is just a high school thing, so don’t get too serious.”

“Yeah, I know. My mom wants to meet her, too,” he told me.

I smiled, imagining how Denise would act while I watched Jamal steal the basketball from another kid. “He’s quick, ain’t he?” I asked my son.

“Yeah, he looks like he got game already, especially for his age. He would probably make the six-year-old all-star team,” Little Jay said with a laugh.

I jumped in with the fun. “Yeah, he probably has junior high school scouts watching him right now.”

We shared another laugh. Then I got back to business. I said, “Taking this girl home to meet your mother is a good idea. I know you don’t want to, but mothers are good judges of character. They can see things that we tend to take for granted, or just plain miss, especially if the girl looks good.

“Is this girl a winner or a beginner?” I asked him. “Winners are good to go, but beginners still need some work in the looks or in the attitude department.”

Little Jay laughed and answered, “Oh, she’s a winner. She’s
definitely
a winner! I was surprised she even liked me.”

“Why?”

He slowed down and thought about it. “Well, she’s kind of smart. Her father’s a doctor, and her mom’s a dentist. I was thinking that she might just look at me as a basketball player and wouldn’t want to talk to me.

“But once we started talking and all, I told her that I don’t really walk around thinking about basketball all the time. You know, when I’m off the court, I’m just a regular guy. And she said that she could tell that I was humble. Then I told her that my mom wouldn’t let me get a big head anyway.”

“Yeah, your mom hasn’t come to
any
of the games this year either,” I mentioned.

“That’s because she knows that you’re gonna be here,” he told me.

I said, “Damn. So, she don’t even want to see me.” My feelings were hurt.

Little Jay tried to explain himself. “Naw, I don’t mean it like that, I’m just saying that she knows that you’ll be here to cheer me on, that’s all. She’s not trying to avoid you or anything.”

I felt a little better, but not all the way. I said, “Well, how do you feel about that? Don’t you want your mom to come out to your games?”

He got quiet for a second. He said, “I think about it sometimes. But Mom is so busy doing so many things that a lot of times I just don’t feel like bothering her about it.”

“
Bothering her?
Shit, man, you’re her
son
,” I told him. Then I thought about my own neglect. “I oughta smack myself upside the head for not doing what
I
was supposed to do, but just because I’m back in the picture now, that doesn’t mean that your mother shouldn’t come out to see you at all. What the hell happened to her team spirit?”

Little Jay said, “She got burned out from having to lead by herself for too long.”

I was shocked. I was surprised that he actually had an answer. I guess that he
would
have one since he had lived through it with her.

I broke down and said, “I’m sorry, man. If I could just—”

Little Jay shook it off and said, “Don’t even worry about it. I’m doing all right. Especially now.”

I said, “You think I had anything to do with that?”

“Oh, yeah. Definitely! Even my mom said it.”

“She said what?” I asked. I wanted to know Denise Stewart’s exact words. She didn’t have many good things to say about
me
.

“She told me, ‘I’m glad that you’re able to reconnect with your father, because whether it’s with basketball or not, you just have had a whole different attitude about things lately, and I’m actually jealous.’

“Then I kissed her forehead and said, ‘Don’t be jealous, Mom, you know I’ll always love you. And if I ever get on TV, I’ll do the same thing every other guy does: ‘I love you, Mom!’ Then she said, ‘No you’re not, because I’m gonna be in the stands.’ And I told her that I was gonna say it anyway.”

I smiled. Before my eyes, Little Jay was growing up,
fast!
He had more confidence about himself, he talked more, he carried himself with more authority, and he was very logical. I was just awed by him. Did I have anything to do with all of that? I still wasn’t sure. Maybe I needed more confidence myself. When I looked at Jamal again, knocking down his final shot from nearly the foul line, I had my answer. I was a new man on a mission, and the rewards from dedicating myself to fatherhood were already paying off.

Marc “Speed” Wilkins walked over and shook my son’s hand on his way out. “Good game, man. You’re gonna have to do it again on Friday. It’s gonna get tougher and tougher for me to score. Everybody’s gonna be trying to shut me down, so you’ll have to keep steppin’ up. All right, freshman?”

Little Jay smiled. “Yeah, all right.”

Then Speed nodded to me before he headed to the door.

A few other teammates and spectators spoke to my son on their way out. Then the head coach walked up to us.

“How are you doing, Mr. Daniels?” Coach Melecio was an old white guy in his fifties with plenty of gray hair and a trimmed mustache. He was Italian, with lots of youth and fire still in him.

I shook his hand and said, “Three more years, Coach. You think you’ll get a state title before he graduates?”

The coach nodded. “It depends on the point guard situation,” he told me. “We have another shooter who’s a sophomore right now who’s got more range than Speed, but our point guard play needs help.” Then he looked at Little Jay. “But your son will definitely do
his
part.”

“I know he will,” I said.

Little Jay just smiled.

“And if he keeps his grades together, he’s guaranteed a Division 1 free ride.”

I nodded, but I hated those words “free ride.” I’d rather use “scholarship,” it sounded more established. That “free ride” shit sounded cheap. There wasn’t a damn thing free about a scholarship! Those Division 1 colleges made you work your ass off to get them,
and
to keep them.