I am so honored to be contributing over at The Glorious Table today.
My knobby knees shook, and huge drops began to fall from the overcast February sky. We stood in the vacant street in front of the old house on Jerome Avenue, and my sister broke down the mechanics of the “crossover.”
I wanted, as badly as I had ever wanted anything at twelve years old, to be like my sister.
She was a talented basketball player in high school and may as well have hung the moon. She was smart, assertive, and athletic, and she could beat most guys in a pick-up game. What more could a girl ask for?
“Dribbling,” she said, “it’s like dancing. You gotta have rhythm.”
And so we practiced.