While out walking dogs today I passed a ten-year-old boy playing alone in his driveway, throwing basketballs at a hoop. The feeling of a dystopian novel of the 1950s came over me. Here we were, on a suburban street that poked its way into the farmland forest. Pleasant ranch-style houses with expansive clipped lawns intruded on the firs and cedars. Calls of the Steller's jay and the thump of the ball were the only sounds on the wind. But that wasn’t just one ball.
A big net around the entire basket and free-standing backboard funneled the kid’s shots into a blue apparatus below, whether the ball made the hoop or not. Every couple of seconds the machine shot another basketball back at the boy. I’m not a sports person, but I imagine these ball shooters are common in high schools and colleges, and surely the NBA. They must be great for muscle memory and to give a team an edge.
I don’t know how many kids have a ball shooter of their own. I suppose this guy is lucky. But he wasn’t running back and forth to retrieve his basketball. He wasn’t laughing with friends, or reaching down to grab a ball. He stood, endlessly, tossing balls at the hoop. Thud. Thud. Thud. Thud. So he can be better at this game than his friends. Maybe become a star and make lots of money. Thud. Thud. Thud. He was, like, ten years old.
Although I know nothing about his life or what he does with his time otherwise, this glimpsed moment of a boy’s private play gave rise to several of my pet peeves. Before I launch into the tirade that I feel welling up inside me, I’ll pause a moment. I’ll hold my tongue.
I’ll take a step back and give space to the opinions of others who might react to an image like this. I suppose there could be all kinds of thoughts. Depending on a person’s background, they might be proud that our great country makes it possible for a neighborhood boy to enjoy this type of technology. They may smile to see a young boy working so hard at something. Perhaps they might feel jealous, or indignant, or uninterested. They’ll have some sort of response though, even if it’s none.
We bring our entire life history, and the baggage that comes with it, to everything we do. Our perspectives are formed by our experiences and the choices we have made. Life is seen by each of us through lenses tinted by opinion and all the influences that we allow to affect that opinion.
My story Aru’s Realm is meant to remind people that there are many realities in our world. Although we live together as drops of water in a great cosmic sea, sharing human depths of recognition, we also have our unique presence with its own view.
Life is a book we each read, but like all readers of books, we bring our personal memories and influences to the page. Once shared, a story no longer belongs to the writer. It becomes a different tale for each one who takes the journey through it. Life is like that, too.
