I was on the high school basketball team. I practiced with the team. I ran out on the floor and warmed up before the game started and then I sat on the bench(长凳) cheering for members who were actually going to play in the game. When we won, I hugged my teammates.
I enjoyed that, but I didn't know how my dad felt about my bench-warming role. We never talked about it. I supposed it was hard for him. My dad played basketball in college. He was fast and strong and he could jump like a kangaroo. And my older brothers were sports stars at college. I was not sure how he felt about going to games just to watch his son sit. Still, my dad was always there, usually standing in a corer of the gym. I'd make eye contact with him during the pre-game warm-up --it would have been uncool to smile or wave. And then I forgot about him until after the game - and the hugging- when he'd come up to me, smile, shake my hand and tell me, "Good game!" even though I never actually and anything to make the game good. It changed in the last game of the season.
It was a great day for our team - we were up by about 20 with two minutes left. The coach suddenly looked towards me and said. "Walker! You're in!" The next two minutes seemed not real to me. I remembered running up and down the field a few times. When someone started counting down the last seconds, my teammate assed the ball to me. I heard people on the bench shouting" Shoot(投篮)!" as I faced the basket and shot. We won. But then I didn't know what to do. I was unprepared for a time when I had hit a last-second shot. Naturally, I looked for my dad. And he was there, where he always was, smiling at me as he always did.
Through good times and bad, my dad was always there to smile, to encourage, to support and to love. I came to depend on that, even towards the end of his life when smiling was about all that he could do. It helped to know that, no matter what, my dad was there.
Now I'm the one who is in my 50s trying to keep pace with a teenage basketball player in my family. To be honest, I'm not as good at it as mv dad was. But I keep trying because I know how much it can mean for a Dad to be there when his son hits the big shot, or especially when he doesn't.
