Dear Cash,
Now twelve years old you stand at the precipice of teendom, although honestly, it feels as if you’ve been a teenager for some time now. Surpassing me in height is reason number one. Then there’s the shruggy shoulders, the headphones hanging off one ear, a pretty “meh” attitude about most things, and oh, the hygiene! I feel like the hygiene police constantly asking if you washed your hands, your face, if you put on deodorant. Requested drop-offs from three blocks away is a fairly new thing, side hugs and the quick below-the-waist waves when hanging with your friends. But every Mom knows to expect these things.
One on one we have pretty farfetched, grown discussions. Your curiosity leads to questions so wild I often resort to saying, “I have no clue Cash — just Google it.” Conceptual ideas circulate in your brain, the likes of which I NEVER conjured up at your age. Back in 1986, all I cared about was MTV, Madonna, trading friendship pins, and Guess jeans; and boys, of course. But your mind is an absolute spectacle. Percentages, rankings and algorithms spew from your mouth like a Tickercom. One night after sitting next to you at dinner, Gail came up and said, “Wow! Cash is somethin’ else!” and I knew exactly what she meant.
On your own time and outside of the classroom, research and analysis is your daily quest. “Mom, did you know that less than 1% of people can see music and hear color?” You school me on cryptocurrency, the metaverse, profit margins and investment returns, and otherworldly things like the physics of neutron stars, before hitting me with an onslaught of philosophical questions about the human condition. “Mom, are you paying attention?” you snap, catching my eyes glaze over and my neck drop in fatigue. It’s no secret, you exhaust me.
It’s no secret you crack me up too. Like the other day when you asked, “How does a blind person know when to stop wiping after taking a poop?” I believe I spit my drink out from laughing. These random mind-pops have come from you for years. I simply cannot remember a time when your wandering mind was idle.
This past summer was one of the best you said. Six weeks in various basketball camps, one of which was run by the Brooklyn Nets — and that was in addition to training every weekend with Dad. It’s mind-blowing how much better you’ve gotten over the short span of summer; skills on full display during B2B practice this month.
You mention dreams about playing professionally or at least going to a Division One school like Dad. “But even if I don’t get to that level, it’s still good to know how to play. It’s fun … plus I’ll always be able to play with friends.” Besides Cash, your entrepreneurial mind-pops are a pretty good backup plan. Constantly adding to that database between your ears, with stats and trivia about basketball players — both hall of fame and present day — even if you don’t end up playing, you’ll find a way to make a living relating the history of the game to current scenarios. Of that I am sure.
One thing I’m thankful for is that even at twelve years-old you still talk with me about your feelings and concerns. Walking home after your first practice with Coach Jermaine, you confided in me about one particular insecurity. “I’ve just got to work on my off-ball movement Mom — making cuts and fast breaks. I need better confidence about making the shot.”
When you’ve finished sharing, I remind you of the MJ quote you read to me during one of your Jordan studies.
“Obstacles don’t have to stop you. If you run into a wall, don’t turn around and give up. Figure out how to climb it, go through it, or work around it.” – Michael Jordan
Great advice for your developing game, but also your upcoming move to a new city, new home, new school. Your life is about to take a new direction Cash, and this kind of change calls you to rise up. Strength and growth within yourself will come over time with continued efforts, and in turn, so will your jump shot.
I promise, you got this.
Happy 12th birthday “Smash”. I love you.
Always and forever, Mom