The First Time — Thank the Good God, is Remembered Forever

Get your minds out of the gutter. I’m talking about something else

I am barely 13 years old. At a pep rally for the basketball team (or football team, or wrestling team — they’re interchangeable at that time), seated on those gymnasium staggered wooden stands we probably all remember. I am skinny, white, nerdy (glasses, of course). To my left is a friend, and to my right another. Directly in front of me is a beautiful Sister that I’ve known for several years since she’s the little sister of a Brother I play basketball with all the time.

The band was playing some peppy number, really revving up the crowd, which was going wild. Reacting to the music and chaos Sister leaned far back, hitting my knees. Worried that my knees would hurt her, I pulled them apart, and the logical thing happened — she flopped back into my crotch and belly, my knees splayed around her torso. I can still feel the blood rush to my face, and my heart pounding when I think about that, almost as strongly as I felt it then. But that was not the end.

She looked up at me, my face over hers looking straight down. She gave a shouted laugh, reached up and put her arm around my neck — and pulled me almost double to plant the first real kiss of my young life. It probably was only a few seconds, but I was in heaven for what seemed a lot longer than that. She smelled like honeysuckle, and tasted like strawberries.

And that was it — that golden moment — we remained just friends. But it’s not the end of the story, a different part continues below. But even now I can close my eyes and feel those few seconds all over again, and smell the honeysuckle and taste the strawberries. If I walk past a honeysuckle plant at Lowes or Home Depot, it all comes flooding back. No, I will never forget that, thank the good God.

Her big Brother was at that time pretty much my idol, at least when it came to basketball. I’d never seen anyone up close in person who could dribble like that and shoot like that. He could send up a 20 foot jumper, perfect, with a flick of his wrist and his feet what seemed like a yard off the ground. I had to put most of my whole body behind a 20 foot jumper, as my skinny arms had little power and my skinny legs couldn’t lift me very much.

I never really understood why, but Brother took an interest in me. He worked with me on weight training, my ball control, vertical elevation, and other things like using both hands on lay-ups, and finger rolls. About a year later, when I was all of 5'6" tall, I could grab a properly-heighted rim. I think in a previous article I mentioned that this Brother once carried me home to my mother when I’d blown an ankle — a common concomitant of getting that far off the ground when your legs and ankles are skinny and you’re driving to the hoop.

During all those helpful exercises Sister came to my attention. She was a year or two ahead of me, and had for long been the most beautiful person I’d ever seen in person. She treated me like a younger brother most of the time — the whole family did, actually, and I learned a lot about different families and cultures. Other Black friends did the same, and so did their families, as they were grouped together on the extreme east end of our town and not far from me. I have many happy memories of those wonderful families…and the food; how on earth did I stay so skinny?

I’ll never forget my Brothers and Sisters and their families who treated me so well when I was just a skinny white boy. In all the years since, quite a few of them have fallen and died — but I still think about them with love and gratitude.

I remember them, honor them, and stand by them and other Brothers and Sisters in these days of hate and prejudice and inequality; and it’s the very least I can do.