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The Tie that Binds

A quick trip to the gym will fit snuggly between my daily commitments and my youngest daughter Mary’s busy schedule. The time we spend alone is coming less frequently as the years carry her away to adulthood.

“Do you want to go and shoot hoops?” I ask Mary unexpectedly after picking her up from school. We always talk about going, but it never happens.

“Sure,” she replies, “but I need to change.”

We retrieve our gym clothes from home and we are on our way. The cracker box shaped, red brick building enshrining the basketball court appears on the horizon. Built in the 1930s, it’s dignity remains as a place where teams and individuals have felt both the “thrill of victory and the agony of defeat;” a place where dreams of game-winning buzzer shots have driven players to shoot hundreds of practice shots; a place where the echoes of crowds linger, hung among the rafters like championship banners.

I reach down and tighten the laces of my hightops. Fifteen-year-old Mary is out on the court stretching. I bounce the basketball and it echoes in the old gym. The late afternoon sunlight shines in from the high windows reaching across the hardwood floors from sideline to sideline.

Mary and I smile at each other. She tucks the ball, her right hand underneath, lines up her elbow and jumps. She extends her right arm, guides the shot with her left hand and flicks her wrist, tossing the ball toward the hoop. It soars, banks off the backboard and passes through the rim – the net swooshes!

“Nice! Now hold your hands like this.”

I demonstrate the grip for a chest pass.

Mary pushes the ball forward and extends her arms with the perfect follow through. “You’ve got it. Great!” I say smiling proudly.

We shoot until our shirts are damp with perspiration. We catch our breath, sitting mid-court. Our usual talks about grades, Mary’s weekend plans and boyfriend Josh are replaced with talking about nothing and seemingly everything.

I shoot one last shot – the arch is high, the angle just right, and the net pops as the ball drops through the basket.

“Niiice!” Mary draws out. We high-five and talk about plans to play together again.

If you live in the region of the United States where Atlantic Coast Conference basketball rules the land, your March is filled with the excitement of college basketball. The frenzy of the ACC Tournament and the NCAA Basketball Tournament sweeps across the waves and beaches, wallows in the mud of the coastal plains, and whoops and hollers along the mountain ridges.

Like other households, Mary and I join the family conversation that abounds around the kitchen island and dining room table discussing the ACC Champ’s worthiness and whose pick for the Final Four is more realistic.

“March Madness” won’t subside until the confetti and discarded game programs are piled high at Detroit’s Ford Field.

Sports are a lot of things to a lot of people, but to a father and teenage daughter who are working to maintain the strong relationship grounded in her childhood, basketball is the way to remain close during a time of unavoidable change.

Leaving the gym, our conversation continues to flow. We walk comfortably beside each other in the late afternoon, savoring the closeness. For days, the ease captured that afternoon lingers.

Fathers and daughters for all time have worked hard to make this transition – a little girl growing to become a young woman.

It has never been easy to find a tie that binds one to another. But when love is the motivation, a common passion reminds the two they can always find common ground!

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