Howdy,
#NaNoWriMo (550) — Day 7
(Unedited, or only slightly)
(Editor’s note: changing storyline to make Jake’s dad more present, deciding against previous direction for Jones family context. Draft content of previous posts in need of revision for final story. *This is okay; part of the process. Hopefully for an audience an interesting piece of watching a work in progress story develop. Good for me to see how it plays out, and, with faith, come together in the end … )
Continued …
“No, I don’t mind rebounding for you, Son,” Mr. Jones said, throwing a crisp bounce pass to Jake. “Can’t say that I’m much used to it from my days.”
Jake shot the ball from the left elbow. Frowned after his release, feeling it was off target. He slid quickly to his right, readying himself at the opposite elbow. Bending his knees for a rapid catch and release.
His dad let the ball come to him off the rim and snapped a chest pass, knowing where Jake would be, shifting back and forth to the ends of the free throw line. “But without those behemoths clogging up the lane and towering over 5’6″ point guards rebounding’s a lot easier.”
Jake knew about rebounding basically being a lucky bounce here and there. He’d hustle for any ball he could get, playing against anybody, but he never expected outreaching for rebounds in the sky. Those ricochets never seemed to come down in his lifted hands.
Jake loved it. An afternoon on the court, just he and his dad. Passes coming right back at him. Over and over. He could shoot the basketball for days. Or at least hours and hours.
Hours and hours, day after day.
Mr. Jones’ passes came swiftly and well-aimed, right and left handed. Lighting bolts striking on the mark, but somehow not too hot to handle. Delivered for the shooter. As he’d told Jake, he had been a point guard and to stay on the court without some of the athleticism and height a lot of basketball players naturally possessed, he’d had to develop refined skills to help the others around him succeed.
It helped having his dad there. Not only because of the easy pickings because of the rebounding: catch pass, reload, release, repeat. But also the coaching. His dad, short like himself — Jake knew why he was short, anybody could see it — had made himself a great shooter when a kid himself playing ball.
Jake didn’t mind taking turns rebounding, because his dad could shoot, and Jake enjoyed watching it, proud of his dad and picking up tips.
Mr. Jones had told Jake before that in his time he’d left his gunning to when he was wide open, to when team’s sagged off to focus on the known scorers he fed the ball. He really wasn’t a gunner, but when left alone, he’d sink it, making team’s pay for that strategy. Shooting it down.
Busy with the work that he did, Mr. Jones wasn’t a basketball coach, but he could teach Jake, and their communication was strong. A strength. Their bond, father and son, brought with it enhanced insight. Mr. Jones was quick to see what would help his son, and Jake accepted coaching, trusting it to be for his good and his game, and grasped the advice and training with unusual understanding.
So, they shot and taught. Jake getting ball after ball after ball up at the basket, and his dad teaching him what he knew about it. Calmly communicating what he saw as he watched his son practice shooting the ball, imparting what he picked up along the way and encouraging Jake all the while.
Jake soaked it up.
And filled it up.
To be continued …
—Billy
Reading. Writing. Living.
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