Momma Mia!

Family is supposed to be a source of love and comfort. There was a time where I'd stand before my players and talk about how my parentS worked many hours to put a meal on our table every night. I'd talk about my family being hit hard by the Bush, Sr. era recession when my father lost his job, or my mother hoisting the family on her back to the tune of 50 hour work shifts at a Nursing Home. In my mind, I was a warrior for having escaped the mean streets of Dorchester where we always had heat and electrity in a spacious two bedroom apartment to eventually become what I am today. One of my players, Suave, got me to reflect deeply on my past dire circumstances

Suave was one of a kind. He lived in the local housing projects, which was a twenty minute walk away from campus. Rain, snow, or shine Suave would find his way to campus via public transportation or the old fashioned way--by foot. He was determined to fulfill his dream of playing college basketball. Suave had a mid-range jumper that looked a lot like Ray Allen's. In one drill he hit an astonishing 75 out of 100 mid-range shots!

In my second year of coaching the team, we practiced at 645 a.m during the week. Most of the team had a hard time with this except for Suave and one other player. With each practice, I noticed that Suave looked more and more sluggish. It got to the point where he looked strung out. One morning I walked in and found him there alone shooting at 6:30 a.m. He looked worse than usual. On this occasion, I forced Suave to open up about what was troubling him.

Me: What's going on, man? You don't look good.
Suave: Yeh?
Me: No. I'm worried. You look bad. Are you sleeping? Eating okay?
Suave: Honestly, no, but I usually don't sleep.
Me: What do you mean by that? People need to sleep.
Suave: I sleep if I have a comfortable place to lay my head.
Me: What about home?
Suave: Haha.. I don't really have a home, Coach.
Me: I thought you live with your mom?
Suave: I do, but it's hard to stay there.
Me: Why?
Suave: (pauses) Coach, my mom roams the streets. She's an alcoholic. Sometimes she just picks up and leaves for like a week.
Me: Where does she go?
Suave: I wish I knew...

Perspective...