Long before I ever picked up a basketball, I had a bat and a glove.
At least that’s how I remember it.
I grew up playing slow-pitch softball because, back in the olden days, girls weren’t playing fast pitch yet. Or at least we weren’t where I lived. Fast pitch came to Arkansas high school softball right after I graduated, which seems unnecessarily rude in hindsight – even though my love of the game is specifically with slow pitch.
But softball?
Softball made sense to me.
I could hit. I could field. I could throw. Put me somewhere on the field, give me a little time to figure out the position, and I was probably going to be okay.
I was a naturally gifted softball player.
There. I said it.
That’s a weird thing to write about yourself, isn’t it?
But it’s true.
Athletic ability certainly helped. I could see the ball, move my body where it needed to go and understand what was happening around me. There were parts of the game that just seemed to come naturally.
Of course, there’s another part of this story.
My dad.
I couldn’t begin to tell you how many hours that man spent in our backyard hitting ground balls and pop flies to me.
Ground ball.
Backhand.
Forehand.
Pop fly.
Go get it.
Again.
Again.
Again.
Until I was hot, tired and fairly certain another ground ball might actually be the one that killed me.
So yes, I was naturally gifted at softball. But all these years later, I do sometimes wonder how many thousands of ground balls my dad hit before either of us ever thought to call it talent.
Then, in 5th grade, I found basketball. And basketball did not care one bit that I was a good athlete.
Sure, athletic ability helped. A lot.
I could run. I could jump. I was strong. I understood competition. But basketball asked more from me.
And I absolutely loved it.
I loved learning the game. I loved figuring out why something worked. I loved practicing a move until my body finally did what my brain had been telling it to do. I loved getting better. And I worked my tush off at it.
I studied the game. I honed my skills. I practiced. I listened. I failed at things and went back and tried them again.
And somewhere in there my dad apparently traded the fungo bat for a basketball because I’m pretty sure that man also watched me shoot approximately one million free throws.
Again.
Again.
Again.
Funny how that word keeps showing up. Basketball never felt impossible to me. But it didn’t feel automatic either. I had to earn parts of it. And looking back, I think that’s one of the reasons I love it so much.
There’s an old sports saying we’ve all heard approximately 47 million times: “Hard work beats talent when talent doesn’t work hard.” It’s probably hanging on a locker-room wall somewhere right now and some young athlete is rolling their eyes at it. And there’s truth in it. But I think the relationship between talent and hard work is a little more complicated than that.
Talent matters.
I’ve experienced what it feels like when your body seems naturally suited to something. It gives you a head start. It opens doors. It can make things possible that might be much harder otherwise. But talent doesn’t necessarily teach you what to do when something doesn’t come easily.
Work does that.
Struggle does that.
Missing does that.
Trying again does that.
Maybe that’s part of what basketball gave me that softball couldn’t give me in quite the same way. Not because softball was easy. And certainly not because I didn’t work at it. My dad and those approximately 14 billion ground balls would like a word if I tried to claim that.
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But basketball challenged me differently. It made me curious. It made me study. It made me pay attention to details.It made me figure out what I wasn’t good at and decide whether I was willing to do something about it. It pushed me to my very breaking point and then forced me to keep going. And maybe most importantly, it taught me not to be afraid of being bad at something on the way to becoming good at it.
That’s a lesson I’m still working on.
Because somewhere along the way, I think a lot of us start gravitating toward the things we’re already good at. I mean, it makes sense, right? Being good at something feels good. Being a beginner does not. Neither does struggling, failing, or watching somebody else do easily what you are working your tail off trying to learn.
So we tell kids to find their gifts. We tell adults to play to their strengths. And there’s nothing wrong with either of those things. But I wonder sometimes if we’re also supposed to find a few things that don’t come naturally.
Things that make us work. Things that humble us a little. Things that remind us there are still parts of ourselves we haven’t developed yet. Because the things we’re naturally good at can show us what we’re capable of. But the things we have to work for? Those can show us how much we’re capable of becoming.
I randomly try my hand at new things on the regular. Sometimes it’s hilarious. Sometimes I discover something I’m actually pretty good at. Sometimes it becomes a fun new way to pass my free time. And sometimes I learn very quickly that God did not give me that particular gift.
But I hope I never lose the willingness to try. To be a beginner. To be bad at something long enough to find out whether I might eventually get good at it.
I was gifted at softball. I worked like crazy at basketball. The truth is, I worked at both. Maybe that’s the part we miss when we start separating athletes into the “talented ones” and the “hard workers. The best athletes I’ve known were usually some combination of both.
Talent gave them something to work with. Work gave them a place to focus their talent. And somewhere between all those ground balls and all those free throws, I learned that the game doesn’t owe you anything just because you’re good at it.
Maybe that’s why, after all these years, basketball is still the game I love most. It made me work for it. And I think I loved working for it almost as much as I loved the game itself.
Almost.
And that’s how the ball really bounces.
Read more from How the Ball Bounces with Bekka in the archives at www.mysaline.com/bounces.
About the author: Bekka Wilkerson is a lifelong lover of all things sports. Raised in a super athletic household it was no surprise when she too began to love sports at a young age. It seems like from the time she could walk she had a softball bat in her hands, but her true athletic passion came from all things Basketball. That love served her well as a Bryant High School Lady Hornet and ultimately earned her a full scholarship to play at the University of Central Arkansas – among many other adventures.
These days Bekka can be found running around Saline County with her husband, Speedy, or chasing one of her grandsons. She is also the Executive Director of The EMpact One Foundation, a Saline County Nonprofit Organization that helps young people stay connected to extracurricular activities through tuition assistance and equipment provisions.
Reach out to Bekka with questions and/or ideas about things you want to see in this column at [email protected] and learn more about The EMpact One Foundation at www.empactone.org.
