Holy Ground

My brother would be disappointed about the basketball hoop that sits knee-high on a table. The basketball lays strewn in the sand beside it.

When Russell walks across a basketball court the sky gets brighter and Hallelujah tunes chime loudly. Really. He makes sure people realize what holy ground they are walking on.

To him, a home basketball court means carefully sweeping all the rocks off the carport before play begins. Making sure he is using the outdoor ball. Marking the free throw line with chalk. Shooting from all over the court. Trying trick shots from behind the picnic table. But making sure Little Red, our teenage beater car, is parked behind the basket so the ball bounces off of it and he has less running to do chasing the rebound.

Then, he lowers the basket to practice his trick dunks. He pulls a 360, a one-handed, and who knows what else before my dad yells out the window to raise the basket and try dunking for real.

Brother’s always been a basketball man, never going anywhere without his girlfriend, “Spaulding” and basketball shoes. You never know when you’ll find a pick-up game.