Friday, June 28, 2013
Hey you. You princess descended from a king. You seven who tells everyone you are eight since you will be this year. You who looks like your Aunt Kimbo. You in the dress which sparkles when you twirl. You who reads with your eyes closed because you have memorized the book. You who responds, I am just so excited to see you, when someone asks, Do you remember me?
You brilliant, brilliant, beautiful girl.
Your Papa once told me, Don't ever bet on another man's game.
He had just gotten off work, still in the uniform from the tire shop. He was small. I was tall for my age and arrogant enough at fifteen to think I could take him. How much we bettin'? He asked.
Hundred dollars, I replied.
Hundred dollars, he confirmed.
No, I said. A dollar, after seeing the grin on his face.
Okay, a dollar, he laughed.
It was quick. I don't think anyone had ever taken me so cleanly in a game of basketball. I was stunned.
He told me I didn't owe him anything. Then he said it, Don't ever bet on another man's game.
How was I supposed to know basketball was your game? I asked.
He laughed, threw me the ball and walked inside.
Today I am grateful for that little piece of him which has and always will linger in my heart.
Maybe I was supposed to tell you.