How the Ball Bounces with Bekka: The Picture in the Gym
Remember Al Bundy?
You know, the guy from Married… with Children who spent most of his adult life reminding anyone who would listen that he once scored four touchdowns in a single game for Polk High?
Four touchdowns. One game. And approximately 47 million retellings.
I used to think that was hilarious.
Well, last week I realized I might be one good story away from becoming Al Bundy.
Oliver and I were talking the other day. We might have been talking about basketball, he’s been playing in the yard with his dad lately, so it’s entirely possible. But there’s an equally good chance I brought this up completely unprompted and out of the blue.
“You know my picture is still hanging in the high school gym, right?”
Because apparently, at some point in the conversation, I decided my grandson needed to be made aware of my athletic prowess.
Nobody asked for my rĂ©sumĂ©. But BB was prepared to provide one anyway. And for the record, I’m not talking about a team picture tucked away in some dusty trophy case.
Back when I was in high school (maybe they still do this?), standout athletes had their pictures hung in the gym, along with a list of their accomplishments. It was a pretty big deal. At least it was to those of us who dreamed of seeing our faces up there someday.
And mine made it.
As far as I know, I’m still hanging there with all my “used to be” buddies.
Now, before you start rolling your eyes, I worked hard for that picture. There were a lot of practices, games, sore muscles, wins, losses and probably a few tears behind it.
I’m proud of that girl. I was proud of her then, and I’m proud of her now.
But there’s something a little strange about knowing that a teenage version of yourself is still hanging on a wall somewhere, frozen in time.
She’s fabulous in her glamour shot chic. Her accomplishments are listed underneath her picture. She’s young, competitive, probably a little too confident for her own good, and absolutely convinced basketball is one of the most important things in the world.
And at that point in her life, it probably was. It was definitely the thing that saved her and set her on a path she couldn’t have imagined. But she had no idea what was coming.
No idea where life would take her. No idea what she’d accomplish, what she’d lose, what she’d learn, or how many times she’d have to start over.
She certainly didn’t know that decades later she’d still be playing basketball, leading a nonprofit that is changing lives, writing a weekly column, and randomly reminding her grandson that she used to be kind of a big deal.
I wonder what she’d think if she could see me now.
Would she be impressed?
Would she be disappointed that I never became a professional basketball player?
Would she wonder why on earth I voluntarily play golf when I’m clearly not all that good at it?
Probably.
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But I also wonder whether she’d recognize the things I’m most proud of today.
Because here’s the funny thing about getting older. The accomplishments that once seemed enormous don’t necessarily get smaller. They just have to make room for everything that comes after them. And sometimes the things that matter most don’t come with a trophy.
There’s no gym wall for the times you kept going when life got hard.
No framed photograph for showing up for somebody who needed you.
No list of accolades for the relationships you’ve built, the mistakes you’ve learned from, the people you’ve loved, or the difference you’ve made in somebody else’s life.
And thank goodness, because I’m not sure any of us needs our entire adult rĂ©sumĂ© hanging in a gymnasium. Although I wouldn’t necessarily object to a small plaque somewhere.
Just saying…
I think there’s a temptation, especially for former athletes, to talk about the glory days as though they were the best days. I mean, for the most part, they really were glorious. I don’t believe we have to pretend otherwise. Those moments mattered. The friendships mattered. The accomplishments mattered. The work mattered.
And I don’t think there’s anything wrong with remembering them fondly or even bragging a little now and then. Within reason, Al.
But I also don’t think we’re supposed to spend the rest of our lives trying to get back to the person we were when the picture was taken. There’s a difference between remembering who you were and believing that’s the most interesting person you’ll ever be.
That girl in the gym had overcome some incredible hardships and still had some pretty good days ahead of her. Some of them happened on basketball courts. A whole lot of them didn’t.
And the older I get, the more I realize that maybe the real accomplishment isn’t having your picture hung on a wall. Maybe it’s using everything you learned along the way to build a life you’re proud of. That girl on the wall had no idea how many times the lessons she learned bouncing a basketball would come in handy long after the final buzzer.
I hope she’d be proud of the woman she became.
I hope she’d see that I didn’t lose the competitive spirit that got her up on that wall in the first place. That I still love the game. That I still want to get better at things. That I still believe in working hard, showing up, and doing something worthwhile with whatever abilities I’ve been given.
I hope she’d understand that some of the best things I’ve ever done have absolutely nothing to do with basketball. And I hope she’d be proud that, all these years later, I’m still finding new things worth chasing.
Because the truth is, I’m proud of her, too.
I’m proud of the girl who worked hard enough to earn that spot on the wall. I’m proud of the dreams she had and the chances she took.
I wouldn’t trade those memories for anything.
I just wouldn’t trade everything that’s happened since then to go back, either.
So yes, Oliver, my picture is still hanging in the gym.
At least I think it is. We should probably go check sometime.
And while we’re there, I might tell you a story or two about these glory days. Maybe three. Okay, four.
But if I ever start talking about scoring four touchdowns for Polk High, somebody please come get me.
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.
