Once upon a time there was a lanky, bean of a girl with an above average basketball shooting ability. Placed almost anywhere around a basket, and she could make the shot. She always played with Dad. He would coach, move her arms, check the angles with her. He had a little skill himself and, at first, was glad to show her some basic shots. Soon, she routinely beat the neighbor kids at HORSE, and could even make it from behind the garage, SWOOSH, into the hoop. She wouldn’t practice without Dad outside though. She would ask him at every turn for a little help.
So Dad signed her up for summer basketball camp. The first day, a small problem became apparent. She couldn’t run and dribble. This, she found out the hard way, was a key element of the game. And she stunk. Enviable shooting ability, fouled for traveling. Every. Time. She also found out that practicing with her dad on the driveway was a lot kinder than practicing alone, or with the kids at camp. At home, Dad would set her up, and she would shine. Here, courts were long, there was a lot less positive feedback, and the coaches expected her to get better. Worst of all, she discovered that some of basketball was really hard. And boring. And sweaty. And, well, work.
She had some natural talent, but just like a lot of people with a lot of talents, she had hoped it would be easy. At a certain point, she is in charge of her own feet.
