The day after graduation, after my date with Lucinda, I mysteriously wandered back to the halls of the high school that was my home for 4 years. I did it without a conscious thought, like a fish heading back home to spawn. I suddenly felt old. Down the hallway, a student asked, “What are you doing here? I thought you were a senior. Didn’t you graduate?”

I suddenly felt ancient. Like an elder without the wisdom. It was a feeling of instant irrelevance. Like a student without a teacher, of course, but also a teacher without someone to teach.

I heard the song, We May Never Pass This Way Again in my head or maybe on a nearby radio. I did not know which. I realized that my excuse for being there was to talk to Lucinda. Maybe to even apologize for my behavior on graduation night. But, I left school quickly without stopping to say hello to anyone.

After a while, I instinctively went to the outdoor courts where I had spent so much time. This time for the first time without a basketball. But, without a trace, Reynaldo was nowhere in sight. As mysteriously as he appeared all those months ago, he was gone. I hadn’t seen him since the banquet. He had always shown up when I needed him, but he wasn’t there. He had always had something to say to me, even when I wasn’t ready to listen. But today, nothing.

Somehow, I wasn't surprised, but it left a hole in me a mile wide. Would he ever return? What would I do without him? Did I still need him? Whatever was the case, I was lost. I sat on the park bench, awaiting, no, dreading my future.

He always talked about basketball, but, somehow, today, it seemed like he always taught me a lot more.

As I sat on the park bench, lost in my thoughts, a sudden gust of wind swept through the empty outdoor courts, causing the trees to sway and leaves to dance in the air. And then, amidst the rustling of leaves, I heard a familiar voice that brought a rush of emotions flooding back.

"Hey there, champ. Miss me?"

I turned around in disbelief to see him standing there, as enigmatic and charismatic as ever. His smile was warm, his eyes twinkling with that same knowing glint that always made me feel like he saw right through me.

"I... I thought you were gone," I stammered, unable to mask the relief in my voice.

He chuckled softly and took a seat beside me on the bench, his presence grounding me in a way nothing else could. "I'm never really gone, you know that. Just taking a little breather."

His words washed over me like a comforting embrace, reminding me of all we had been through.

I closed my eyes and when I opened them again, he was gone. Had I just imagined him? Was this all a waking dream? I wanted him to come back so bad, that I must have made him reappear in my mind.

Hours must have passed. As I sat on the park bench, lost in my thoughts and the absence of my mysterious half-brother, a shadow fell across me. Looking up, I saw Lucinda standing there with a small smile on her face. "I was wondering when you would show up here," she said softly, sitting down beside me. The warmth of her presence eased the ache of loneliness that had been creeping into my heart.

"I wanted to apologize for how I acted the other night," I blurted out before she could say anything else. Lucinda just shook her head with a chuckle. "There's no need for apologies. We were both caught up in the emotions of graduation. But I'm glad you came back here today."

She reached into her bag and pulled out a basketball, tossing it to me. "Let's shoot some hoops like old times. Well, at least old times for you," she suggested with a twinkle in her eye. And just like that, the weight on my shoulders lifted as we played, laughing and reminiscing about everything.

The sound of the bouncing basketball echoed through the empty outdoor courts, filling the air with a sense of nostalgia and companionship. As we played, the sun began to set, painting the sky in hues of orange and purple. I felt a sense of peace settle over me, knowing that even though things were changing and people were coming and going, some things would always remain constant.

As the last rays of sunlight disappeared behind the horizon, Lucinda and I sat on the bench, catching our breath. She turned to me with a glint of determination in her eyes. "You know, graduation might be over, but this is just the beginning for you, for me and and maybe for us. We have a whole future ahead, full of possibilities."

I looked at her, struck by her words. In that moment, I realized that maybe I didn't need to have all the answers or figure everything out right away. Maybe it was okay to be lost sometimes, as long as I had good friends like Lucinda by my side.

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My mother and my sister attended. Unfortunately, my father was still recuperating and was in no condition to attend. I was not sure if my brother, German, would attend as he had just moved back to El Paso with a wife and two young children after getting a degree in architecture at Texas Tech in Lubbock. Leo, Jr. was not available either as he was at the bar managing for my father.

It was great to see the team and for them to get reacquainted with my family and as well as to see theirs. I was particularly glad to see Guillermo and Emmitt, fresh off our play at the all-star game. Emmitt appeared to be heading to a great junior college basketball program in New Mexico. Guillermo did not receive any scholarship offers and was considering joining the military. He and his girlfriend were considering marriage. I had not had any scholarship offers myself, nor did I expect any.

We shared school and basketball stories and made crude jokes at each other’s expense. We exaggerated about our alleged romantic conquests, again.

As the banquet went on, I had really wished that I had asked Reynaldo to attend. I wished that my family could have invited him. I knew that it was out of the question since I had discovered this secret and seen how my family reacted. I had not seen Reynaldo since the secret was out. He seemed to have disappeared after that. I didn’t know whether that confirmed or dismissed the notion that he was a part of the family.

As the honors and awards were being announced and given out, I happened to turn my gaze towards the entrance only to find Reynaldo standing by the wall watching the proceedings.

Without thinking or hesitating, I quickly stood up and walked to where he was. I was astounded. I touched him to make sure he was real and that this was real.

“You’re real? I didn’t imagine you. I mean, how did you get in without a ticket?” I asked.

“I have a ticket. Emmitt and Guillermo bought it for me. They didn’t want me to miss this,” Reynaldo said.

“Holy shit, they did?” I exclaimed. “Come on, come sit with us.”

“No, I can’t. I can’t sit with your family,” Reynaldo protested.

“My family, what do you mean. You aren’t family?” I asked, now more confused than ever.

Reynaldo said, “You know?”

“Yes, I know. Come sit with us,” I said reassuring him and hugged him.

I quickly brought him to the table. But, as I looked at the table, I saw pain in Silvia’s and my mother’s faces.

My mother quickly exclaimed, “What is he doing here? He has no business here. Get him out of here!”

Silvia was stunned and speechless.

I said, “He has every right to be here. He’s the only reason that I’m here. He is more responsible for me being on this team than probably anyone except, maybe, Coach Goodwin!”

I continued, surprising myself with my assertiveness, “Reynaldo, sit down please!” I motioned him toward an open seat and then put my hand on his shoulder. He smiled and sat down.

As Reynaldo sat down at the table, the tension was palpable. My mother and sister exchanged uncomfortable glances, but I refused to back down.

"Reynaldo is family," I stated firmly. "Even though I was unaware of him, he's been a part of my life since I was born. He deserves to be here just as much as anyone else."

“Oh, so, since when did he become such a saint?” my mother continued.

“I don’t know what you are talking about?” I said more confused than ever.

My mother opened her mouth to continue to protest but, surprisingly, I cut her off. "I won't hear another word about it. Reynaldo stays."

Silvia, who had been silent until now, spoke up with a soft voice filled with emotion. "I'm sorry, Reynaldo. I... I didn't know what to do." Tears welled up in her eyes as she looked at him with a mix of guilt and regret.

Reynaldo simply smiled at her, a gentle and understanding expression on his face. "It's okay, Silvia. I never wanted to cause any trouble. I just wanted to be here to support Luis."

As the banquet continued, I made sure to include Reynaldo in our conversations, introducing him to my teammates and their families. Despite the initial awkwardness, Reynaldo's easy smile and humble demeanor quickly won people over. It was clear that he had a genuine passion for basketball, just like the rest of us.

Throughout the evening, I couldn't shake the feeling that there was something more to Reynaldo's presence at the banquet. His sudden appearance, combined with my family's strong reaction, hinted at a deeper mystery surrounding his connection to us.

As the night drew to a close, Coach Goodwin took the stage. He was given the final speaking slot as we moved through several other speakers like the principal, Mr. Tyler, assistant principal, Mr. Marquard and the athletic coordinator, Mr. Johnson. Just as he was about to finish, I stood up and called out from our table.

"Wait!” I exclaimed. “I have an announcement to make.”

I walked up to the podium and said, “I am so happy tonight. Of course, for all the obvious things here tonight. But also, tonight, I am announcing that I have a half-brother that I want to introduce to you. Due to unforeseen circumstances, I did not know for sure but was able to confirm this tonight. Reynaldo, please stand up! Reynaldo is my brother. I want to thank him for coming. I also want to thank my teammates, Guillermo and Emmitt for making it possible for him to be here tonight. Even though they did not know that he was related to me. They just know how important he is to me. As always, they have my back. Thank you! That is all I want to say.”

I walked off the stage, not really knowing what was next.

As the banquet transitioned and concluded with final remarks from the principal of the school, there was an undercurrent in the room that I had never heard before or since. Though the audience was respectful and trying to focus on Mr. Tyler, it was obvious that the entire auditorium was abuzz. I didn’t know what would happen next, but I knew it would be special.

As Mr. Tyler wrapped up his speech, the whispers and murmurs growing louder as people began to discuss the bombshell announcement I had just made. All eyes were on Reynaldo and me, and I could feel the weight of everyone's scrutiny.

As Mr. Tyler finished his closing remarks and the banquet officially concluded, there was a moment of stillness before the room erupted into noise. Parents and students alike approached us, offering congratulations and sharing their surprise at the revelation. Some faces bore expressions of shock, while others showed understanding and acceptance.

My teammates surrounded Reynaldo and me, patting our backs and expressing their support. Guillermo and Emmitt both had big smiles on their faces, proud to have played a role in bringing Reynaldo to the banquet. It was a moment of unity and acceptance that I had never experienced before.

Silvia came up to us, her eyes filled with tears. "I'm sorry, Luis. I should have trusted you with this information. I should have respected your right to know.”

Reynaldo, ever gracious and understanding, reached out to Silvia and took her hands in his. "It's okay, Silvia. Luis has shown me nothing but kindness since we met. I can see the love and bond that you all share as a family. I hold no resentment towards any of you."

Silvia's tears fell freely now, and she pulled Reynaldo into a tight hug, whispering apologies and gratitude for his forgiveness. The tension that had once filled the room seemed to dissipate with each heartfelt embrace and word of acceptance.

As the night came to a close, my family, Reynaldo, Guillermo, Emmitt, and I stood together in a circle, surrounded by the echoes of the evening's events. It felt like a new beginning for all of us, a chance to redefine our relationships and move forward with newfound understanding and unity.

Looking around at the faces of those I cared about most, I felt a sense of peace settle over me. Whatever challenges we faced, I believed we could handle them.

A little later, Coach Goodwin stopped by our table. As he mingled, I hoped that he would come talk to me. After talking to my family, he came over to me and said, “I just wanted to tell you how proud I am of the team and all that you accomplished this year. But it started long ago, probably well before you ever started playing basketball. By the time I met you, it was clear that you had something that was worth watching. You didn’t make the team because you were a gifted player, you made the team because you were a leader. I could see that, and you also were an important teammate in that you had the glue that helped keep the team together. We would not have been the same team without that glue and that type of energy. I just want to say thanks.”

It took some time for me to respond, but I told Coach Goodwin about my first time in the gym all those years ago and told him that I saw something in the gym and in the practice session that I had witnessed, too. Whatever it was, I knew how much I wanted to play for this program and though there were times that I thought I wouldn’t make it or times I wanted to quit (especially during conditioning drills). I told him I was so glad that I stuck with it.

He just said, “Yes, me, too!”

Coach Goodwin's words filled me with a sense of pride and gratitude, knowing that he saw something in me long before I even realized it myself. As the night came to an end and the last of the guests began to leave, I found myself standing with Reynaldo, looking out at the emptying auditorium.

"Thank you for coming tonight, Reynaldo," I said, breaking the comfortable silence between us.

Reynaldo turned to me with a genuine smile. "I wouldn't have missed it for the world, Luis. I'm proud of you, carnal (Mexican/Spanish slang for brother, family, “blood,” very close friend'; literally, “of the flesh”)!

Reynaldo’s use of "carnal" felt strange yet comforting. As I looked up at Reynaldo, I felt a newfound connection between us. Despite the mystery that still surrounded his sudden appearance in our lives, I couldn't deny the bond that was forming between us.

"I don't know what the future holds for us, Reynaldo," I began cautiously, "but I hope we can continue to build on this.”

As I continued to look to the future, I said, “I don’t know what my mother or our father will feel about all this, but I hope that my mother sees that having you around is not so bad.”

Reynaldo let out a sigh and said, “I think that things could go in any direction. I don’t want to push my luck right now.”

He also said, “I just know that you and I are still good, and that is all that matters, little brother."

Just then, it became as clear as could be that I was indeed younger than Reynaldo. I had never really thought about it or acknowledged it before. But clearly, he had taken it upon himself to support, protect mentor and take me under his wing.

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Shortly after the selections were made, a practice had been scheduled by the head coaches of the two teams. Guillermo and Emmett asked me if I wanted to come see the practice. I reluctantly agreed and we all rode together to the practice. When we got there, it appeared that two of the members of the team had not bothered to show up, despite the honor bestowed upon them.

One of the coaches asked me if I would suit up and help them practice if they could find me some gym clothes that would fit. I agreed. I must have impressed them enough during practice that the coaches decided to punish the players who had not attended practice by replacing them with me and another player who had been called on to be a replacement player for the game.

On the day of the game, although I didn’t expect to get much playing time, I suited up and was announced as an All-Star. I got to play more than I expected, and it was an honor and a surprising blast to be chosen. I held my own against the best graduating senior players the city had to offer. I had played against most of them for years in pick-up games and in formal competition, but an all-star game took the challenge to another level. The game was a blur, so I don’t remember much of the game details, but I will never forget it.

What I do remember is that for much of the third quarter, Guillermo, Emmett and I were in the game at the same time. Fortunately, we worked together in such a fashion that we were able to synchronize on several plays where our teamwork flowed flawlessly. We were each able to score several times due to our ability to anticipate our movements and get easily makeable shots. I was especially grateful to have the opportunity to coordinate with my old teammates to play basketball the way it is meant to be played and way we had spent hours mastering together.

With two minutes left in the game, I was back on the bench when the coach motioned me to return to the court. I shook my head and held my hand up to signal that I did not want to return. Though I was concerned that I would appear to be disrespectful and ungrateful for the chance to play a little more, I was basking in the glow of having played so well with my teammates that I did not think anything could top that. I was more that satisfied with having been able to play and play well, that I felt no need for more. Fortunately, the coach seemed to understand my decision and nodded his approval.

Immediately after the game, a young boy, no older that ten or eleven years, came up to me and asked “So, are you an all-star?” and asked me to autograph his program. I was shocked and had never had that happen before.

I said, “no…I mean yes!” My initial reaction was embarrassment. But rather than reject his request because I didn’t feel worthy, I quickly said under my breath, “Oh, what the hell,” and signed it. The boy hopped away happy and got several other autographs from other players and I had signed my first autograph ever. Whoa!

Throughout my high school basketball career, I had not garnered much attention as a potential college recruit. I had certainly not received any scholarship offers to play college basketball, and did not expect any once the season ended. Though the game was not well attended, there were some college coaches and scouts there to evaluate the seniors.

Lately, there had been several rumors that Coach Goodwin was, once again, being courted by some colleges and universities to join their coaching staffs as head coach or assistant coach.

Typically, he turned all offers down. He often said that he was meant to coach basketball not recruit players, which he was aware was the most important role of a successful and winning college coach.

To my surprise, after the game, several of the coaches attending the game talked with me, congratulating me on my play. They also asked me about my plans for next year.

I told them that I had been accepted academically by several colleges but had not yet decided where to attend. I also told them that I had not been recruited by any college to play basketball.

Although, none of them looked particularly surprised, one of them encouraged me to attempt to walk-on or tryout for the freshman team of whatever college I chose.

I thanked him for the suggestion and walked away, still highly satisfied and grateful for the day.

As I walked back to the locker room, I looked back and saw many of the players, including Guillermo and Emmett, still talking animatedly to the coaches and scouts. I thought to myself, “You never know.”

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So, their appeared to be a three-way dogfight which was intriguing to our fans and the entire city, as well as nerve-racking to all the teams and coaches.

What kept us on track was the calm and even-keeled approach that Coach Goodwin maintained throughout. He had been through this before with other teams he coached and was confident that we would be the best prepared team. He emphasized that that was all we could do or control.

During the entire season, Coach Goodwin often said, “Just don’t lose faith in yourself or your teammates. That is all I really want you to bring to the game. That ensures that you will be involved and invested. That is all your teammates and I can ask of you.”

We won our game against Andress High School with relative ease, despite considerable foul trouble that taxed our team and limited what well could do offensively and defensively. We could not wear down our opponent with our deep bench and game-long full-court press. For the first time all season, we seemed to be as exhausted at the end of the game as our opponents. I, personally, could not remember a time when I was as tired as I was at the end of that game, emotionally or physically. Nevertheless, we notched the win and moved on to our last two games with Eastwood and Burges, in that order.

Both games were close, but we avenged our only district loss by beating Eastwood on the road. We then beat Burges, 66-61, a second time to convince the entire state that we were for real. We were our way to the bi-district championship game to be played on the campus of UTEP with a record of 28 wins and 2 losses.

Up next for us were the El Paso High School Tigers, defending bi-district champions. They came in with a record of 26 wins and only 4 losses. Another close game was expected, and we prevailed with a 45-42 win at Memorial Gym.

We were on our way to Abilene for our second regional championship tournament visit in four years.

When we were told that Midland High had prevailed in the bi-district championship game against their long-standing rival, the Midland Lee Rebels, the stage was set for a rematch with the team that we had beaten in the holiday tournament upset earlier in the year.

We were confident, but certainly felt that the game would be as difficult as could be and that we were in for a real fight. We were sure that the Midland High team would be out for revenge as well.

Though we only had less than a week to prepare, we worked hard at practice and did not let up for a moment. Coach Goodwin made sure that we were ready for the grudge match.

On the Friday morning bus ride to Abilene, we seemed to be quite focused on the task at hand; however, as we entered the city, we passed a huge auto junkyard full of old and abandoned cars and parts. On cue and to cut any mounting tension, Rick, our student manager, announced, “Ladies and gentlemen, the arena is going to be rocking tomorrow, the fans are lining up 24 hours in advance, just to make sure that they get a seat for this monumental, once-in-a-lifetime championship battle.” It was just the right thing to say at just the right time. It broke the ice perfectly.

The next day broke, cloudy and chilly. To begin the game, once again, our speed and full-court press hurt our opponents and kept them from taking control of the game. We kept the game close, but their star center who towered over all of our players had an incredible game with 25 points and 16 rebounds. We really had no answer for that type of performance. We lost 47-41 and just like that our season was suddenly done.

It was without a doubt a jarring and unexpected loss that was a shock to me, my teammates, the coaching staff and the entire school. What had been a season full of joy, pride, success and accomplishment was over in a flash. No one was prepared for this and did not know how to handle it.

The bus ride home from Abilene was silent. Our team was stunned and had nothing to say for the first time that we could remember. Even Coach Goodwin was at a loss for words. It was strange, long and uncomfortable trip back home that seemed to last forever.

I could see the disappointment etched on my teammates' faces, mirroring my own feelings of disbelief and sadness. We had come so far, worked so hard, only to fall short when it mattered most. It felt like a cruel twist of fate, a bitter end to a season that had held so much promise.

But as we returned to our high school, the silence that enveloped us on the bus was met with a different atmosphere. The moment we stepped off the bus, we were greeted by a sea of fans, parents, and classmates holding up signs and cheering for us. They didn't seem disappointed or let down by our loss, but rather proud of our journey and the grit we had shown throughout the season.

As we walked through the crowd, smiles, hugs and kisses were shared, and words of encouragement filled the air. It was then that I realized that our season wasn't defined by that final loss in Abilene, but by the heart and determination we had displayed along the way.

Coach Goodwin gathered us around and spoke with a hint of a tear in his eyes, "Men, our season may not have gone the way we wanted it to or ended with a championship, but don't you ever forget all that you've accomplished this season. You've made your school, your families, and yourselves proud. This loss doesn't diminish our success. No one can take away our district and bi-district championships. No one!”

When he said that, I quickly remembered all the training sessions and practices that we endured. I envisioned running the stands individually and as a team in the gym day after day for conditioning. I recalled partnering up with Tomas to carry each other “piggyback” up the stairs to improve our stamina and strength each day as well.

And, I remembered what Coach Goodwin said many times, “Anything worth having is worth working hard for.” At that point in the season, that seemed truer than ever.

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During a lull in our season, Coach Goodwin asked me what I want to be when I grow up.  I said immediately with complete adolescent surety, “A coach!” 

Confused he said, “Look around.  Do you want to be around smelly lockers all your life?” 

I looked around and said, “Yes, sir, why not?”

He said, “All there is here is the smell of wet or dirty towels, jock straps, sweat and body odor. Is that really what you want to be around all the time?”

Over the next few days, Coach Goodwin’s question got me thinking.  It seemed a little strange since we were in the middle of the season, and it looked like we were well on our way to the city basketball championship. Coach seemed like one of the most focused and content adults I knew and now he got me questioning my life path.  I thought that it was quite an unnecessary distraction given the timing.

But as the rest of the season progressed, Coach Goodwin's words lingered in my mind like a haunting melody. The more I looked around the gym, the more I noticed the wear and tear of the place that had always felt like a second home. The scuffed floors, the flickering lights, the faded banners lining the walls - they all whispered tales of years gone by, of victories won and losses endured.

One evening, after a particularly grueling practice, I found myself alone in the locker room. The silence was deafening, broken only by the distant echo of a basketball bouncing on the court outside. As I sat on the bench, surrounded by the musty smell of sweat and liniment, I allowed myself to truly ponder Coach Goodwin's question.

Was this truly what I wanted for my future? To spend my days in a place where time stood still, where glory was fleeting and forgotten as quickly as it came? Or did I dare to dream of something beyond these walls, something more than basketball.

But as the days went by, Coach Goodwin's words echoed in my mind like a ricocheting basketball. I found myself paying more attention to the details of our surroundings - the worn-out benches where we huddled during timeouts, the squeaky sound of our sneakers on the gym floor, the fading posters on the walls exhorting us to victory. Maybe there was more to Coach's question than I had initially thought.

During practice one afternoon, as I dribbled past my teammates in a drill, I stole a glance at Coach Goodwin. His brow was furrowed in concentration, his eyes fixed on us with unwavering intensity. It struck me then that being a coach wasn't just about dirty towels and smelly lockers; it was about passion, dedication, and the drive to push others to be their best selves.

After practice, I mustered up the courage to approach Coach Goodwin. "Coach," I began tentatively, "I think I understand now what you are talking about. The future, my future.”

Coach Goodwin turned to me, his expression softening as he listened. I took a deep breath and continued, "I want to be a coach because I see the effect you have on all of us. It's not just about the game or the smell of the locker room. It's about the way you inspire us to push ourselves beyond our limits, the way you believe in us even when we don't believe in ourselves."

A smile tugged at the corners of Coach Goodwin's lips as he nodded. "I'm glad you've realized that. Being a coach is about more than just X's and O's. It's about shaping young minds, instilling values, and guiding them towards a future they may not have seen for themselves."

As we talked, I felt a sense of clarity wash over me. The doubts and uncertainties that had plagued me seemed to fade away, replaced by a newfound sense of purpose. I knew then that I wanted to follow in Coach Goodwin’s footsteps.

I nodded, hanging on to his every word. For the first time, I saw Coach Goodwin not just as a basketball coach but as a guide, a leader who had dedicated his life to nurturing young talents and helping them navigate the tumultuous journey of adolescence.

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It was noticed by everyone who was left behind in and around Chivas Town, but not discussed much at all. The impact was not obvious until there was increasing bad blood that erupted more and more often at each sporting event between the two schools. Regularly, taunting and arguments erupted particularly when the victory on one side or the other was obvious. The tension and heatedness increased with each event.

By the time, our senior year unfolded, it seemed inevitable that a “rumble” was just around the corner. The football game and its aftermath between the schools that season was particularly hostile, but no police intervention was required. It was clear that something bad was just around the corner. The first basketball game, which we won, was held on the Coronado campus at their state-of-the-art gymnasium. After the game, just down the street many of the students from both schools congregated at the local hamburger joint near their campus.

Quite a nice place, the hamburger joint was symbolic of the social, ethic and class differences between the two schools as well as the two areas of town. Perhaps our victory along with our invasion of their local watering hole was too much for each school to ignore. While our team went home safely on the bus, a huge near riot occurred between the students from each school. As things escalated quickly. Police were called and it took some time for the area to be secured. Fueled by our students and fans taunting their students and fans, it was only natural for them to retaliate on their turf.

I did not hear about it until the next day, but it was quite a story. Though no one was hospitalized or arrested, it was a scandal and a blemish for both schools. Rumors of gunshots abounded.

The return match between the two schools was two or three weeks away, but the superintendent of schools ruled that the game would be played without spectators, to reduce the risk of a second confrontation.

It was only then that it became clear that the feelings of abandonment and resentment of our students had been bottled up for years.

Our team had always relied on our vociferous fans to help us win, particularly at our home gymnasium. Coach Goodwin was quite concerned about our reaction and adjustment to playing without a packed gym of our fans. He talked to us as much about that as he did about the game strategy. In fact, he pointed out that we should be aware of the relative silence of our practices in comparison to the game noise. But he also pointed out that if we think of this game as a pre-season scrimmage, we could more quickly adapt to the lack of noise. By comparison, we could use the atmosphere to talk more and communicate more in this game: even as much or more than in our practice sessions. In that way we could take full advantage of the unusual game conditions.

The days leading up to the rematch with Coronado were tense. The news of the altercation at the hamburger joint had spread like wildfire through both schools, fueling even more animosity between us. But amidst all the turmoil, I couldn't shake off the feeling of unease in my gut. It wasn't just about the upcoming game; there was something deeper at play here, something that went beyond just a sports rivalry.

As we took to the court for the rematch, I could sense the tension in the air crackling like electricity. The lack of spectators only seemed to amplify it, making every play feel more intense, more crucial. We knew that this game wasn't just about winning the district championship anymore; it was about proving something to ourselves, to each other, to our opponents and to our community.

The match was fierce from the start, with both teams playing their hearts out. The absence of the cheering crowd made every move echo louder in the gym, adding a sense of raw intensity to the game. We communicated with each other more than ever, relying on our unity and trust in one another to guide us through the match.

Our unique preparation for the game helped us as we easily won the game and continued our quest for the district championship.

As we walked off the court after our victory in the silent gym, I couldn't help but feel a mix of emotions swirling inside me. The absence of the cheering crowd felt eerie, almost like a piece of our game was missing. But Coach Goodwin was right - we needed to adapt to these unusual circumstances if we wanted to keep winning.

Our victory in the game played without spectators was bittersweet for the team. While we would celebrate the win, there was an underlying feeling of emptiness without the familiar roar of their fans in the stands. Coach Goodwin gathered the team in the locker room after the game to address this mix of emotions.

"Listen up, boys," Coach Goodwin began, his voice firm but reassuring. "I know it felt strange out there tonight, playing in silence. But you showed incredible mental strength and focus. That's what sets us apart from the rest of our opponents."

The team looked at each other, nodding in agreement. We knew that their strength didn't just come from the cheers of the crowd, but from our own unity and determination.

"We might not have had our fans with us tonight, but we had each other," Coach Goodwin continued. "And that's what's going to carry us through whatever comes next."

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One particular memory involved Guillermo and me. During the summer months, Coach Goodwin and Coach Henry would open our high school most evenings so that we could play pick-up games. Formal summer drills and practices were a violation of high school basketball rules.

Most of our team would show up as well as other high school players from the nearby high schools. It was a highly competitive and mostly low-key endeavor; however, it was clear that we were all there to hone our craft as well as to display our skills to our competitors looking forward to the coming season.

Each game, we would play to 21 points and the winning team would stay on the court until they lost. It was quite a feat if a team stayed on for 3 or more games. It was a badge of honor, skill and courage to achieve any sort of winning streak. At our high school gym there was only one court. Since most evenings attracted many players, we would divide the full court and have two half-court games going on at one time. We would play 4 on 4, rather than the traditional 5 on 5 games to keep the half court from being too crowded and give players some room to maneuver. The games were run with “make it, take it rules,” in that if your team scored, you kept the ball for another opportunity to score. This rule made defense all the more important. To win consistently, your team really needed to work hard defensively.

That final summer of our high school careers, Guillermo and I developed a routine that involved playing basketball in the evening and then going to Guillermo’s house to have a late dinner. The dinner usually involved making a huge sandwich of white bread, mayonnaise, and a large slab of sliced avocados (heavy on salt and pepper, with an occasional fried egg added to the mix).

We devoured those sandwiches almost daily unaware of the tremendous number of calories we were consuming. Though we burned off many calories while playing, we had no idea how many calories we were replacing in our bodies. For much of the summer, we were mystified that we were both gaining weight. Previous summers we found ourselves trying to keep our weight up during the summer.

This summer it was difficult to understand what was happening. Fortunately, one evening I went to visit Lucinda at the diner after our avocado sandwich feast.

Lucinda asked me how my day went and what I had for dinner. I mentioned the ingredients to her.

Lucinda said, “Oh my God! How often do you eat those sandwiches?”

I replied, “Almost every night.”

She said, “You’ve got to be shitting me? Both you and Guillermo eat those most every night?”

I said, “Yup, why?”

Lucinda said, “Wait here.”

When she came back, she returned with a cook from the back, Oscar. She asked Oscar to repeat what he said to her.

He said, “I am amazed you don’t weigh a thousand pounds. Do you realize how many calories are in sandwich of white bread, mayonnaise and avocados?”

I said, “No, I don’t know how many calories are in anything.”

The cook said, “Jesu Christo!” and walked away.

Lucinda said, “You guys are fat idiots.” I left quickly, unwilling to hear anymore.

Later I called Guillermo and told him about my conversation with Lucinda at the diner and he was as stunned as I was.

When we got back to the gym the very next night, we asked Coach Goodwin to weigh us on the scale in the towel room. It appeared that I had gained about 10 pounds since the end of last season and Guillermo had gained almost 12 pounds. None of it seemed to be good weight. It had gathered around our midsection as well.

As usual, Coach Goodwin didn’t have to say another word, he just gave us his usual silent look of disgust and disappointment when he disapproved of our conduct. Appropriately embarrassed, Guillermo and I did not make another avocado sandwich the rest of the school year.

By the time the season began we had worked very hard to lose the weight and get in the proper physical condition which we need to seriously compete in our final season.

Despite our poor culinary habits that summer, we continued through a very long winning streak that continued into our District games to determine who would play for the Bi-District (City) championship. That eventual titleholder would continue onto the regional tournament in Abilene and then, if victorious, the state championship tournament in Austin.

With our success and all the time, intensity and focus it took to continue our quest, there was little time to think about what had happened to my family and make sense of its secret. I found myself very troubled but had no time to process it. I was a little resentful that this secret was discovered in the middle of a very important time in my life. But I felt strongly that I couldn’t let academics or basketball take a back seat to the family drama at hand.

Most of the time, I was in disbelief and denial that it even happened or that Silvia was correct that she saw my half-brother. With those unknowns I could pretend it was all a dream. Some of my friends and teammates did not believe any of it and had said all along that I was imagining the whole thing, as they had never actually seen me even talk to the stranger. Sometimes, I even wondered if I had imagined him and his advice as a way to get me though everything.

Though we were winning, I felt quite unfocused and not at my best. Our team was really good, but I felt that I wasn’t pulling my weight or contributing as much as I could. Sometimes I even thought that our team-first approach was ruining the chances of anyone on our team getting good offers to play college basketball. We rarely heard of any college coaches, scouts or alumni coming around showing interest.

Though we had climbed into a top five ranking in the State of Texas high school polls, we weren’t really being taken seriously even in our own District.

It was during one of our toughest games yet, against our rivals from across town, that everything came to a head. The score was tied with just seconds left on the clock, and the pressure was palpable. I could feel the weight of my family secret pressing down on me, distracting me from the game at hand.

As we huddled up for the final play, I tried to focus on Coach Goodwin's words of encouragement, but my mind kept drifting back to Silvia's revelation and the mysterious stranger who may or may not be my half-brother. Was it possible that he was at the game, watching me play without my knowledge?

The buzzer sounded, signaling the start of the play. Guillermo passed me the ball, and I made a quick move to shake off my defender. With a clear shot at the basket, I hesitated for a split second, unsure if I should take it or pass to a teammate with a better angle.

But then, in that moment of uncertainty, a voice echoed in my mind, sounding familiar yet distant. It was the same voice that had guided me through tough decisions before, the one that had whispered words of wisdom when I needed them most.

"Just believe in yourself," the voice said, and suddenly everything became clear. With newfound confidence surging through me, I released the ball with a flick of my wrist, watching as it sailed through the air towards the hoop.

Time seemed to stand still as the ball made its descent, each heartbeat echoing loudly in my ears. And then, with a satisfying swish, the ball went through the net just as the buzzer sounded, signaling the end of the game.

Cheers erupted from our side of the court as my teammates rushed to congratulate me on the game-winning shot. But amidst the chaos and celebration, I couldn't shake the feeling that someone was watching me from afar, someone who knew more about my family than I did.

As we made our way back to the locker room, I had an uneasiness that lingered. The victory should have filled me with joy and satisfaction, but instead, it only fueled my growing curiosity about the stranger who might be my half-brother.

I decided to confide in Guillermo about my doubts and fears as we changed out of our sweaty uniforms. He listened intently, his usually jovial expression turning serious as he processed everything I told him.

"You know," Guillermo began slowly, "I've noticed that guy from the park hanging around our games lately. He never sits with the other spectators, always off to the side, watching quietly."

My heart raced at Guillermo's words. Could this mysterious figure be the one I had seen with Silvia that day in the park? Could it be that he didn’t disappear as I had thought? Was he really keeping an eye on me?

Before I could voice my thoughts, the door to the locker room creaked open, and Coach Goodwin stepped inside. His eyes scanned the room, stopping momentarily on me before moving on to Guillermo. There was a look in his eyes that I couldn't quite decipher, a mixture of concern and something else that I couldn't place.

"All of you boys played a hell of a game out there," Coach Goodwin said, his voice gruff but tinged with pride. "That shot at the end? Pure magic. But it took an entire team effort the whole game to get that win. I’m really proud of everyone!"

I nodded in appreciation of Coach Goodwin’s words, but the unease still gnawed at me. It had nothing to do with basketball, it had to do with my family.

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Unbeknownst to most fans outside of the West Texas area, the elite New Mexico teams were just as talented and well coached as the elite teams from Texas. Annually, teams from Hobbs and Carlsbad were considered the best high school teams in the country, despite their relative obscurity.

Also scheduled to compete in Carlsbad was a team from Midland, Texas that was ranked #2 in the state at the time. With that lineup of the best teams from two states, we were not expected to go very far, much less win.

However, the Midland team had endured the highly competitive early rounds of the tournament and were victorious over the best teams New Mexico had to offer and made it to the finals as expected. Though we had made it through a tough bracket to the finals as well, no one expected us to be competitive against this highly talented team from Midland. Their program regularly rivaled any in the state and had sent their graduates to such major basketball programs as the University of Nebraska as well as UTEP.

To begin with, our tallest player and starter, Emmitt, stood 6-foot, 3-inches tall. Midland’s team had a front line of a 6-foot, 11-inches; 6-foot, 7-inches; and 6-foot, 5-inches. It was quite an imposing and intimidating group of athletes. Though dunking was outlawed in official high school games at the time, the assumption was one could dunk while warming up. At least, it appeared that most referees tended to look away when a player dunked. This Midland team spent much of their warm-up period making sure that all opponents noticed that a majority of the team could dunk the basketball. It was indeed ment to intimidate.

In addition, Midland had lost in the state tournament finals in Austin the previous year to Houston Wheatley, perennially one of the top-ranked teams in the country. The Wheatley program regularly sent their top players to such elite basketball schools as The University of Houston and the University of Nevada-Las Vegas.

What transpired was in the final of this tournament was nothing short of miraculous. We held our own against Midland and led most of the way, with our physical conditioning, hustling on defense, our full-court press and our smart shooting. We befuddled a much more physically talented and taller team. We played beautiful, disciplined basketball and won the game by six points, 47-41.

Prior to that game, we were reluctantly convinced that we were good and could play against anybody. But I didn’t think that we would keep going at the level of excellence that we displayed in New Mexico. Some people said that Midland took their championship for granted by the time they met us. Perhaps they were taken by surprise and did not respect or take our team seriously. Nevertheless, with that prestigious tournament championship win, our team was on the map and rising in the rankings. Even our own fanbase took notice earlier in the season than usual.

As always, Coach Goodwin valued having a very well-conditioned and deep team. Everyone on our team was accustomed to playing their best basketball all at the same time. We did not rely on one or two superstars to score or play well. It took an entire team effort and Coach Goodwin would send out our entire roster each game. This approach would exhaust and frustrate our opponents who could not send out as many of their players to combat our all-out effort, speed and stamina. As the season went on our confidence increased game by game and our belief in Coach Goodwin’s system became complete.

As we returned from the tournament in Carlsbad, our heads were held high, and our confidence soared. That win against Midland, a team that was expected to crush us, solidified our belief in ourselves and in Coach Goodwin's methods. We were no longer the underdogs; we were a force to be reckoned with.

The local newspapers buzzed with headlines about our unexpected victory, and suddenly everyone wanted to know about the team that had taken down the giants from Midland. Our families beamed with pride, and even the school administration began to take notice of our accomplishments.

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I replied, “All this chaos and confusion!”

Reynaldo quickly responded, “No…chaos creates progress! You can’t improve as much when things are going really well as much as you can when all hell has broken loose. Remember that. Do not ever forget that.”

Now that he was gone and there was more chaos than ever in my life (and in my head), I couldn’t forget it. But I wasn’t always sure what he meant or how to benefit from what he said.

Another time, I was complaining about something wrong with the mechanics of my shot and he said, “Where we are now started a long time ago.” It was another confusing thing that I could not really understand, but somehow it came forward in my consciousness and seemed appropriate given the family secret that had emerged.

Overall, though, I gradually forgot his existence much less his importance in my basketball life. I started to think he may have been just a figment of my active imagination running wild. I certainly questioned whether my stranger was the same person as this half-brother, Reynaldo. Nevertheless, I was getting less distracted by these questions and more focused on the season that was coming fast.

Perhaps more importantly, as basketball practices became longer and more intense there was little time to go to the blacktop. I did not see Reynaldo for weeks and then stopped wondering or expecting him to show up. But I never really forgot the many things that he said to me and had quickly incorporated all that he taught me in a very important and obvious way.

Meanwhile, Guillermo, Emmitt and I seemed to form the emotional nucleus of the team. Though we tended to have calm and quiet presence on the team, when we chose to speak the rest of the team listened. Much of the time we led by example. Our willingness to practice long hours and spend time on their own developing their skills spoke to the rest of the team in an impactful way.

Guillermo, who learned much of his point guard skills from his successful and talented older brother, was also gifted in distributing the ball to just the right person who could score easily from their favorite spot on the court. He always seemed to find me even when I didn’t realize I was open for a relatively easy shot. Emmitt was a strong presence around the basket and could be counted upon to get an important rebound or block a crucial shot by an opponent. He was consistent shooter from within 15 feet of the basket.

Tomas and Jamie also worked hard on defense and were also good rebounders. Adam played the other guard position and had a great jump shot. The truth was that we all had to be good shooters to make our particular motion offense work. We all had to be tenacious and quick defenders to be able to run our all-game full court press to perfection. So, it was obvious that everyone on the team had to be versatile more than anything else. Unlike most basketball teams, as much as we wanted to be a tall team, that was our least important characteristic for the way we played and the way in which we won.

Coach Goodwin had retained a total 7 seniors on our team, which was more than any other year that I was aware of. We had an unusual rotation of 10 to 11 players in any particular game, more than any other team that we played. We relied on our underclassmen, juniors Freddie and Omar, and one sophomore, Cole, to round out our squad. We believed in Coach Goodwin’s team strategy, that we were each an interchangeable part of the whole. We were somewhat positionless as individuals and highly valuable regardless of when and for whom we were substituted. Fouls and defensive assignments and individual matchups were of very little importance in this way of playing basketball.

As the season progressed, our team's chemistry and cohesion only grew stronger. Guillermo's leadership on the court was undeniable. He made sure everyone was involved and playing to their strengths. Emmitt's presence under the basket was a force to be reckoned with, consistently outrebounding opponents and protecting the rim with his shot-blocking abilities.

Our unorthodox style of play, with all of us being versatile and positionless, confused many of our opponents. They struggled to adapt to our fast-paced offense and suffocating full-court press defense. Coach Goodwin's strategy of rotating players in and out seamlessly kept our energy levels high throughout the game, catching other teams off guard and exhausting their starters and their bench players.

However, despite our success on the court, something felt like it was missing. I couldn't shake the feeling that Reynaldo's sudden disappearance was not a coincidence.

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One weekend afternoon, I was at the outdoor courts shooting baskets, getting loose. We had an important game coming up. As usual, my frequent mystery companion strolled up to watch me. Suddenly, I felt a little better.

However, after a while, Silvia, who had planned to come from Las Cruces to visit, drove up in her car with her three children. She was about to park when she quickly and dramatically backed up into reverse gear, shifted into drive, sped up, and drove away, tires squealing. Rather than finish my workout, I ran home to see if I could figure out what had happened. It seemed to me to be some kind of family emergency. I thought that one of her kids had gotten sick in the car or something like that.

When I got home, I found Silvia and my mother, both looking like they had just seen a ghost. Before I could ask a question, Silvia immediately asked, “Do you know who you were talking to?”

I answered with a question, “You mean the guy on the sidelines or one of the players?”

She repeated, “The guy you were talking to when we drove up.”

“Yes, he is a guy who stops by and watches me play. Sometimes he gives me advice about basketball,” I volunteered, not knowing at all where this line of questioning was coming from.

“That’s all you know about him?” she asked looking confused as well.

“What do you mean?” I said, still confused.

“You don’t know who he is?” she continued.

“No, I don’t. Why? Should I?”

“You don’t know anything else about him?” Silvia asked.

“No, that’s it. Why?” I asked, now really irritated.

“You don’t know his name?” she asked as if I were a complete idiot.

“No…I don’t!” now believing that maybe I was an idiot for not asking him for or knowing his name.

“Well, I don’t know how to tell you this. I think that I need to tell you because Mom is too shocked to tell you.” She paused for what seemed like minutes.

“That is your half-brother,” she said. “He is Dad’s son. Mom hoped that she would never have to tell you if she wasn't somehow forced 1to,” said Silvia.

I turned to Mom and asked, “Is this really true? Doesn’t he have a name?”

She looked down and away, nodding slowly and shamefully. She then said, “His name in Reynaldo.”

Tears welled up in my eyes as I struggled to process the bombshell that had just been dropped on me. Reynaldo, my half-brother, the mysterious stranger who would casually offer me tips on my jump shot, was actually a part of my own bloodline. My mind raced with a million questions as I tried to make sense of this new reality.

Silvia sensed that I might be angry too and placed a comforting hand on my shoulder. Her presence was a source of strength in the midst of the chaos unfolding around me. But I instinctively pulled away. I turned back to my mother, searching for some explanation in her downcast gaze. How could she have kept such a monumental secret from me all these years?

Finally, after what felt like an eternity of silence, I found my voice. "Why…why did you keep this from me?" I demanded, the hurt and betrayal seeping into my words.

My mother looked up at me, her eyes brimming with unshed tears. "I didn't know how to tell you, mijo. Your father never felt comfortable telling you either.”

“Comfortable?! So, you are all in on this?” I said accusingly.

“Well, Silvia wanted to tell you a long time ago, but we insisted that she keep quiet,” Mom said.

“As far as I know Leo and German do not know either,” she continued.

“You don’t know if they know?!” I said as I became more emotional.

Silvia interjected gently, “It’s not about them right now. It’s about you and how you deal with this new information.”

I took a deep breath, trying to steady my racing heart and turbulent thoughts. Silvia was right; this moment was about me and the suddenly crazy shift in my understanding of my own family. Reynaldo, the enigmatic figure at the basketball courts who had, unknowingly to me, been a relative all along, suddenly held a different place in my mind.

Turning to face Silvia, I asked, “How did you find out?”

She hesitated before replying, “I overheard Mom and Dad talking one night when I was visiting from Las Cruces. They didn’t realize I was awake in the next room.”

A sense of betrayal welled up within me once more, this time directed at my parents. The web of lies and secrets that had been carefully spun around me left me feeling adrift and disillusioned. But amidst the whirlwind of emotions, some things started to make sense.

As Silvia's words hung in the air, a new realization dawned on me. Suddenly, the odd sense of familiarity I had always felt around Reynaldo made sense. The unspoken connection that drew me to him at the courts was more than just chance—it was blood calling to blood. Despite the shock and anger churning within me, a flicker of curiosity ignited as I wondered about this newfound sibling and the shared history we had unknowingly carried with us for so long.

With a deep breath, I turned back to Silvia and my mother, the weight of their gazes heavy upon me. "I need to talk to him," I declared, my voice steady with newfound resolve.

“Don’t you want to know more about him first?” Silvia asked.

Angrily, I said, “No! How will I know that you will tell me the truth?” At that moment, I was feeling closer and more trusting with Reynaldo than I was with my own mother and sister.

Silvia's revelation suddenly shed light on moments that had once seemed insignificant - the things Reynaldo knew about me, the way Reynaldo would watch me with a familiar intensity, the shared glances that hinted at a connection beyond mere chance. The pieces of the puzzle were slowly falling into place, each one reshaping my understanding of my family and myself.

As I grappled with this newfound knowledge, I couldn't help but feel a mix of emotions swirling within me - confusion, anger, betrayal, and denial; but also, a strange sense of kinship that I hadn't felt before. Reynaldo, once a stranger in the periphery of my life, now held a significance that was impossible to ignore.

Looking at Silvia and my mother, I saw the weight of their own guilt and fear reflected in their eyes. They had carried the burden of this secret for so long, shielding me from a truth that threatened to unravel the very fabric of our family.

Taking a deep breath, I knew that I had a choice to make - to let the anger and betrayal consume me, or to confront this new reality head-on and seek the truth that had been hidden from me for so long. With a determined nod, I turned away from my mother and sister, the echo of their silenced truths still ringing in my ears.

Leaving the comfort of familiar faces behind, I ran, and I made my way back to the basketball courts where Reynaldo often lingered. The sun was beginning to dip below the horizon, casting long shadows across the cracked pavement as I scanned the area for any sign of him.

Unfortunately, he was nowhere to be found. I sat down on the pavement, still stunned yet reflective.

What would I say? Was it even true? Was he really my half-brother? Maybe he wasn’t. Maybe it was just somebody who looked like my half-brother. Did my sister really see him clearly? What else about my family did I not know? Were there other secrets? Who was Reynaldo’s mother? Do I know her? Where does Reynaldo live?

Could I tell him what I now know? What could I ask him? Did he know what I hadn’t known? What exactly did he know? How does he feel about a family that can’t or won’t acknowledge him? How could he have set things aside to help me as much as he did? I had so much to think about. So much to learn. My mind was racing with questions with very few answers.

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Other times, I woke up and look out the window to see if his car was in the driveway. If it was, I was able to quickly fall back asleep.

A number of times during my childhood and adolescence, the phone would ring in the middle of the night after my father arrived home. It was always the police informing my father that one of his bars had been burglarized. They would ask him to come to the bar to help them with their investigation. It was always the same, the burglar(s) would have broken through seemingly strong iron bars to break down a door or window. They would have emptied storage room the bar of beer and wine. My father only had a beer and wine license as his clientele would never order mixed drinks. They limited themselves to beer and cheap wine. If the burglar(s) had time, they also emptied out the jukebox and any other vending machines (snacks, sodas, and cigarettes) of all the coins and bills they could get their hands on.

One night during the beginning of my last year of high school, my mother answered the phone shortly after midnight. It was the police, but it seemed too early for a break-in. My father had been closing the bar with an employee, Sam, when someone snuck up on my father and assaulted him. This time they took cash from my father as well as all the other things they typically took. When the police and ambulance arrived, my father was unconscious. Sam had also been assaulted but had not been hurt seriously.

My father was rushed to the hospital where he spent several days under observation for a severe concussion. Sam believed that they hit him and my father hard enough that they probably left them both for dead.

Both of them were taken to the hospital. The police were calling from the hospital to inform us of the assault and robbery. Fortunately, my father had no significant injury except for an extreme concussion.

While my father recuperated from the injuries, my mother asked Leo, Jr. to run the bar, which dragged out for several months. The assault left him temporarily impaired cognitively and physically. He was not the same for quite a while. Neither was I as it turned out.

Two days later, after basketball practice, several of my teammates challenged each other to a dunking contest. Unfortunately, not one of my teammates including me, had been able to successfully achieve this feat. I had not seen anyone at our school dunk a basketball in almost a year. Only Goose Garrett who was about 6-foot, five inches had been able to do it. Unfortunately, his father was in the military. The family had moved away and Goose transferred to another school between school years. No one else had done successfully dunked, even though we would routinely attempt to do so. Marlon Blanford who was 6-foot, 7-inches hadn’t done it a couple of years ago, Emmitt (6’-3”) had not done it. I would try, but other than my unusually large hands, there was no evidence that I had the ability to do so. In fact, Coach Goodwin once said jokingly that I was perfect for our team because I was slow but balanced things out by not being a good leaper either. Think about that for a minute.

Anyway, I tried to dunk the basketball that day with all the other guys, only to come down awkwardly. As I tried to walk away, I felt something painful down my lower back. As with most injuries, I tried to shake it off. As the pain subsided, I chose not to tell anyone about it.

A few days later, during basketball practice, my back seized up. I didn’t know what was going on, but again I did not tell the coaches. I was hoping it would go away quickly. Of course, it did not and the pain persisted in my lower back and most of the way down my left leg for several weeks into the middle of the season.

Despite the persistent pain in my back, I pushed through basketball practice with gritted teeth and a determined mindset. I couldn't let my team down, especially during such a crucial part of the early season. But as the weeks went by, the pain slowly worsened, affecting my performance on the court.

The pain in my back and leg seemed to persist as the days went by. I struggled through each basketball practice, gritting my teeth and trying to hide the discomfort from my coaches and teammates. The shooting pain that radiated down my leg made it difficult to move on the court, let alone try dunk a basketball.

One day, as I sat on the bench during a game, Coach Goodwin noticed my grimace every time I shifted in my seat. He approached me with a furrowed brow, concern evident in his eyes. "What's going on, son? You look like you're in pain," he said, his voice laced with worry.

I hesitated for a moment, unsure of whether to share my struggles with him. I replied, “I’m fine, I’m just not happy with how I’m playing.” I did not reveal anything about my injury, nor my father’s incapacitation.

But my back and leg pain were becoming unbearable, and I knew I couldn't continue like this. We easily won the game. So, at our next practice, I finally opened up to Coach Goodwin about my back injury and how it had been bothering me for weeks.

It seemed that telling Coach Goodwin actually reduced the pain in my back as if my confession and acknowledgement was all that it took to begin the road to recovery. I did not miss any practices or games, but I had to be very diligent about stretching before any strenuous activity and especially before games.

All the while, our family continued to watch over my father’s slow recovery and kept the bar going. A cloud seemed to hang over us, but little did we know how much.

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When we got to the restaurant, we loaded up on all the Mexican food we could afford to buy: tortilla chips, guacamole, tacos, flautas, enchiladas, beans and rice. A little bit of everything.

Not surprisingly to me, after lunch the often-unreliable car would not start as we got on our way back to town.  Guillermo informed me that you can’t tow a car back across the border. How he knew that I did not know. I didn’t think it would be a good idea to call my father that we need to tow my mother’s station wagon across the border. So, we finally got a guy to help us jump start the car for all the collective cash we had left over from lunch (which wasn’t much). The car started just in the nick of time. By the time we finally got back to El Paso, it was time for practice.

This practice session was early in the fall, prior to the beginning of our senior year basketball season. Expectations were not that high, and we were not yet totally focused and committed to all that it took to have a highly successful year.

We still need something to bring the team together and we were hoping that our trip to Juarez would do the trick. We just didn’t know whether it would work.

Dressed in our practice gear, we shuffled into the gym, our good-natured banter and the squeak of our sneakers echoing off the walls. As we began our ritual of pre-practice stretches, a wave of contagious laughter swept through us, causing giggles to bubble up uncontrollably. Some of us had had a bit of alcohol to drink with our meal. The atmosphere turned from jovial to hysterical when a sudden series of eruptions of thunderous farts sent all of us into fits of laughter.

Coach's patience finally snapped at the disruptive sound, his voice booming over the chaos as he bellowed, "That's it! Everyone pack up all your shit and go home! No showers, just get out of here.” He quickly went to his office.

Coach Goodwin did not say another word that day. He did not even leave his office as we got our stuff out of our lockers and filed out of the locker room to go home.

His silence even continued into the next practice. He let the assistant coaches run the practice. He did not ever mention our suspended practice session, but his silent message was clear. He wanted to see how we were going to respond to his disappointment. If we weren’t committed and if we were not going to take the pre-season seriously, we were not going to be successful.

Also, noticeable were the absence of Javier Contreras, Davy Rodriguez and Eddie James along with a few other players at our pre-season practices. Over time each of them had demonstrated their lack of commitment or difficulties being coached. Their sporadic attitude and motivational problems were their undoing. It appeared that either they had quit the team, or they had weeded themselves out somehow. Perhaps they had not been invited to return. However, it did not go unnoticed that our team was coming together quickly without them and that Coach Goodwin probably had something to do with it.

As our pre-season practices progressed, the absence of Javier, Davy, and Eddie left a noticeable void in our team. Coach Goodwin had made it clear that only those committed to the game and willing to put in the effort would be welcomed on the court. And slowly but surely, the rest of us were starting to see the benefits of this decision.

With each passing practice, our bond grew stronger, our plays became more synchronized, and our determination soared higher. We were no longer just a group of individuals playing basketball; we were a team with a common goal pushing each other to be better every day.

As we ran drills and practiced plays under Coach Goodwin's watchful eye, I couldn't help but feel grateful for the opportunity to be part of this team. The challenges we faced together only made us stronger, and I knew that no matter what obstacles lay ahead, we would face them head-on, united.

Even though Javier, Davy, and Eddie were no longer with us, their absence served as a constant reminder of the importance of commitment and dedication. Without them, we had to step up and fill the gaps they left behind. It was a tough adjustment at first, but as we continued to practice and play together, we started to see improvements in our game that we never thought possible.

Coach Goodwin's tough but fair approach was working, pushing us to give our all and show up not just physically, but mentally as well.

The day of our opening game arrived, and as we stood on the court facing our opponents, I could feel the energy pulsating through our team. We moved with precision and unity, each player knowing their role and executing it flawlessly. The final buzzer sounded. We had won the game easily, our first major victory of the season. The buzz around our team began to grow as we started winning games against tougher opponents. We were no longer the underdogs; we were a force to be reckoned with, at least in our own minds.

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I was mostly there to talk with her at the counter, when the diner was least busy after about 8 pm. After basketball practice and after I finished my homework (or most of it), I would head to the diner to sit at the counter. I’d usually order a soda.

Most of the guys at school liked Lucinda’s friend, Veronica. But, for some reason, I liked Lucinda more. She was more interesting. In fact, she was much more interesting than several of the girls at school who were basketball fans and came to most of our games as a group.

One evening at the diner, I asked her about how the chicken soup was made. She said, “I don’t know. I’m not the cook, I’m the counter waitress.”

Lucinda being the counter waitress was perfect for me, because she didn’t have to walk all around the diner. She was confined to the counter.

So, I said, “Yeah, but don’t people ask about the soup before they order?”

She said, “They are smart enough to know there is chicken in the soup. They’ve been to a diner before.”

A little insulted, I continued to ask, “But don’t they want to know how the soup is cooked?”

She shrugged.

“Don’t they want to know what else is in the soup?” I insisted.

She said, “No, not really…do you want to order the soup?”

I said, “No, why would I get the soup, if nobody knows what’s in it?”

She responded, “No I don’t know what in it or how it’s cooked. I never said that nobody knows what’s in it, or nobody know how it’s cooked. The cook knows.”

I asked, “Does the cook make it the same way every time?”

Lucinda replied, “Yes, of course.”

“You know that for a fact?” I asked.

“It looks the same,” she assured me, still assuming I was a cooperative customer.

“Will he make it a different way, if a customer asks him to?” I continued.

“I don’t know,” she said, not yet annoyed.

“Will he make it a different way if you ask him to?” I asked, suggestive of her charms.

“If I ask him or you ask him?” she asked seeking clarification.

“Either one,” I said with increasing interest.

“I don’t really know if that matters either way,” she said.

“So, go ask him?” I continued.

“Are you going to order it?” Lucinda insisted.

“No, I don’t know what’s in it,” I said.

“If I ask the cook about it, will you order it?” she asked.

“Probably not,” I said looking down.

As I remember it, most of our conversations sounded like that. I don’t remember how many times I visited the diner, but it was a lot. I always wanted to ask her out, but did not get up the nerve for quite a while.

I finally did ask her out, like this, “So, do you want to go do something?”

She said, “I’m working.”

I said, “So, you don’t want to go do something?”

She said, “I mean ‘no, I’m working.’”

I corrected myself and said “No, I mean after work.”

She said, “Maybe, but where would we go?”

I said, “I don’t know. What about to get something to eat?”

She said, “This is a diner.”

I said meekly, “Oh, OK, that’s right. So, you want to eat here?”

She said, “No, I work here, why would I eat here?”

I said sarcastically, “OK, that makes sense, especially since you don’t know what’s in anything.”

She frowned.

I softened and said, “That’s OK, we could go eat somewhere else.”

She said, “Like where?”

I said, “Like where or when?

She said, “Like where?”

I stammered, “Ah…OK, how about Denny’s?”

She said, “Specifically?”

I quickly thought I saw an opening and said, “Yes!”

But, she said, “No, I’m tired. Anyway, I don’t get off until midnight.”

I said, “OK, maybe some other time.”

She said, “Just say when?”

Totally confused, I just walked out but I think I was back the next evening.

Lucinda continued to work at the diner, and I found myself there more often than not. Our conversations evolved from playful banter to more substantial conversations. Gradually, we began to open up to each other about our dreams and fears, our past and present. I learned about her tightly knit family and the struggles they faced, and she listened as I shared my own stories of growing up in Chivas Town.

One night, after the last customer had left and the poorly maintained neon sign outside buzzed softly, casting a warm glow through the windows, I mustered up the courage to ask her out again. This time, there was a different energy between us, a silent understanding that had been building over time.

As Lucinda wiped down the counter, I cleared my throat nervously and said, "Hey, so...I was thinking maybe we could catch a movie this weekend? If you're free, that is."

She turned to look at me with a soft smile.

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As I sprinted back on defense, I said, to no one in particular, “Man, that was a hard foul. I can’t believe they didn’t call it.”  Davy Rodriguez, a teammate who was running back on defense with me, asked me sarcastically, “What do you want me to do about it?” He then quickly added, “Don’t cry to me about it.”  As you can see, he was a great teammate.

Davy always called guys around him “Mama’s boys” whenever he disapproved of their unmasculine behavior.  It was usually as a response to any complaining or whining anyone else did. Ironically, he was one of the biggest whiners and complainers on the team.

However, he regularly spoke very highly of his mother and the affection he had for her.  I really didn’t care that he was close to his mother. But......

One day, I was fed up after he once again called a teammate a mama’s boy.  I said, “Hey Davy, how come you are always calling everyone a mama’s boy?  I don’t hear anyone around here talking about their mamas as much as you do.  I think you’re the mama’s boy.  What do you think of that, pendejo?”

Davy came at me fast, but the rest of the team blocked him. I think I might have gotten to him a little.

As the team separated us, Davy glared at me with fire in his eyes. I could see the hurt masked by his anger, a vulnerability I hadn't witnessed before. His chest heaved with each breath; fists clenched at his sides. But instead of unleashing his fury, he took a deep breath and walked away.

The tension between Davy and I escalated after our heated exchange. On several occasions our teammates managed to separate us before things got physical, but the animosity lingered in the air between us. From that day on, our interactions were filled with passive-aggressive comments and icy glares on the court.

During practice, Davy would deliberately aim hard passes at me, testing my reflexes and patience. I retaliated by pushing myself harder, determined to outshine him in drills and scrimmages. Our coach noticed the growing rivalry between us and decided to address it before it further impacted team dynamics.

One afternoon, Coach gathered the team for a meeting and called Davy and me to the front. He made us sit face to face, eye to eye, and urged us to talk things out. Reluctantly, I started first, acknowledging my role in escalating the conflict and offering an olive branch of peace. Davy listened quietly, his expression unreadable.

Finally, after a tense moment of silence, Davy spoke up and reluctantly apologized. Quickly, the meeting broke up.

That night, as I was heading out of the locker room, I noticed Davy sitting alone on the bench. I hesitated, unsure if I should approach him. But something compelled me to sit beside him.

"I'm sorry for what I said earlier," I began again.

Davy remained silent for a moment before finally speaking in a voice tinged with emotion. "You don't understand, man. My mom... she passed away when I was just a kid. Calling others 'mama's boys' is my way of... dealing with it, I guess."

He also said that the woman that he currently called his mother was actually his stepmother.

I was taken aback, my perception of Davy shifting in an instant. The tough exterior he displayed was only a front for the little kid inside.

As Davy's words lingered in the air, a wave of empathy washed over me. I realized that his tough demeanor and constant references to mothers weren't meant to be derogatory but were his way of coping with a painful loss. Guilt gnawed at me for my role in intensifying the conflict between us and misjudging him all this time.

Without saying a word, I placed a hand on Davy's shoulder, offering silent support. He turned to look at me, gratitude shimmering in his eyes. In that moment, an unspoken understanding passed between us, bridging the gap that had divided us for so long.

From that night on, Davy and I forged an unlikely bond built on mutual respect and shared vulnerability. Our rivalry on the court transformed into a partnership, each of us pushing the other to excel while also providing unwavering support.

As that season progressed, our teamwork flourished, earning praise from our coach and teammates. And though we still had our differences we could set them aside, if only for the sake of the team.

Nevertheless, our team that year was slightly better than mediocre. Coach Goodwin’s tendency to be highly loyal to his seniors was our undoing. We had one standout at guard, Ronnie Andrews (who went on to play at West Texas State University), and not much else. However, with our system deeply embedded in our program, we were probably better than we had any right to be. We did not make the city/district playoffs and had to wait until next year to see what our seniors had to offer.

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As I continued to work out, he came closer. When he got to the edge of the court, I said “That doesn’t even make any sense.”

He said, “It makes total sense, and you won’t really be any good until you understand that one thing.”

I stopped and looked at him and tried to understand what he was saying. He continued, “You look so serious out here all alone. You don’t look like you are having any fun at all. Isn’t that why you play, to have fun?”

I responded, “It used to be a lot of fun, but now I just want to be as good as I can be, and I want to win.”

He leaned against the fence behind the basket, his gaze fixed on me. His words lingered in the air as I struggled to grasp their meaning. I couldn't deny the truth in his words - somewhere along the way, the joy I once found in playing had been overshadowed by my relentless pursuit of victory.

"I get it, you want to win," he said with a knowing smile. "But let me tell you something, kid. True greatness doesn't come from just winning. It comes from finding that balance between skill and joy, between determination and passion."

I felt a surge of frustration at his cryptic advice, but there was something in his eyes that held my attention. It was as if he knew a secret to success that had eluded me all this time.

"Listen," he said, pushing himself off the fence. "You have all the talent in the world, but until you learn to play with your heart as well as your head, you'll always be one step behind."

“I feel like I am getting really close,” I said.

He chuckled, shaking his head in amusement. "Winning is important, sure. But if you're not having fun along the way, what's the point? You've got all this talent," he motioned towards the basketball in my hands, "but if you're too caught up in your head, you'll never reach your full potential."

I furrowed my brow, contemplating his words. He had a point. I had been so focused on perfecting my skills and winning games that I had forgotten the sheer joy and love I had for the game. Maybe it was time to rediscover that passion.

As I stood there, lost in thought, the stranger tossed me the basketball and said gruffly. "Here, show me what you've got. But this time, do it with a smile on your face."

I took the ball and felt a rush of excitement and freedom wash over me. Dribbling around the court, I felt lighter than I had in ages. With each shot I took; I could feel the weight of expectations slowly lifting off my shoulders. He watched me intently, his eyes filled with a mix of satisfaction and pride.

"That's it, ese," he called out, his voice filled with encouragement. "Let go of all that pressure and just play."

And play I did. Every jump shot, every dribble, every move felt effortless and natural, as if I had unlocked a part of myself that had long been dormant. The sheer joy of the game flooded my senses, infusing each movement with a newfound energy.

As the sun dipped below the horizon, painting the court in hues of orange and pink, I found myself laughing out loud as I made a particularly tricky shot. He clapped his hands in approval, a wide grin on his face. It was the first time I had seen any emotion on his face.

"You see?" he said as I jogged over to him, sweat glistening on my forehead. "This is what it's all about - playing with heart, playing with joy.”

During my sophomore and into my junior year, while the varsity struggled to win consistently, I continued to work on my game as I awaited my opportunity as a junior varsity and varsity teammate. One particular varsity pre-season game stood out in my mind that junior year.

As the game went on into the fourth quarter, as I came off the court, I felt a huge smile on my face.  As I sat down, I heard my teammate Tomas say “Coach Goodwin didn’t see you hit those shots. He was busy yelling at Javier.”  That was such bad news. Javier Contreras may have been the most athletic player on the team, but he was a little difficult to coach. He was quite a lot for the coaching staff and the team to handle. The coaches wanted badly to give him playing time but could not seem to keep him motivated or focused enough of the time. He would make one great play and follow it with some type of mistake or missed assignment. Often, it looked like he didn’t know the plays we were running. He also seemed to have some academic challenges that the coaches did not like, either.  

“You’re shitting me.  I just went crazy out there,” I said, letting out a huge, deflated sigh.

Guillermo then added, “I know, man.  That was crazy good shooting.” 

This was the first scrimmage (pre-season game) of the season against another team and in quick succession I had just hit four jumpers in a row.  To me that was huge, but Tomas and Guillermo had just burst my bubble.  This was my Jerry West moment, and Coach Goodwin was looking the other way.

“How is Coach going to have confidence in me if he’s going off at somebody when I am going off on somebody?” I said even more exasperatedly.  It wasn’t just against any team; it was against our biggest rival in the city and the team that was favored to win the city championship.  We, on the other hand, weren’t favored to win much of anything this year or next, my senior year.

“Just shut-up and keep shooting,” Guillermo said as supportively as he could.

Unfortunately, the fourth quarter of this game was coming to an end, and I was unlikely to get the opportunity again that day.  The good news was that we were able to win this game.  I hoped this would be a glimpse of the coming year.  As a team, we looked really good in this pre-season game, and I was beginning to look forward to seeing what we could do as the regular season began.

As the final buzzer sounded, signaling our victory over our rival team, Coach Goodwin called us in for a post-game talk. He commended our efforts, singling out Javier for his exceptional defense. I couldn't help but feel a twinge of disappointment that my performance had gone unnoticed. But as we headed back to the locker room to shower, Guillermo slapped me on the back and whispered, "Don't worry, your time will come."

And he was right. The next few weeks of practice were intense, with Coach Goodwin pushing us to our limits. I made sure to give it my all, sinking shot after shot in drills and scrimmages. Slowly but surely, I started gaining Coach Goodwin's attention.

One day, as we were gearing up for a crucial game against another tough opponent, Coach Goodwin pulled me aside. "I see you've been putting in the work, son," he said gruffly. "We're gonna need your shooting skills tonight. But more importantly, we are going to need your leadership. Just be ready."

That was great, but I had no idea what Coach Goodwin meant by that. I did know what shooting was all about. But leadership?

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That style was also taken up by many male adolescents and young adults in the Mexican American community. Thought to be started in the Los Angeles area, those who adopted the style were called “cholos” or “kaks” (for the khaki pants or shorts that were often worn) as part of the uniform). These were fairly derogatory terms usually associated with the lower class (servants, waiters, laborers of some sort).

As you might have guessed, he was a hero to me and a badass to those in the neighborhood.  He seemed pretty street smart or at least had the attitude that was adequately convincing.  Ultimately, he got married and joined the Air Force right after high school.  When he returned home from the service, he brought home his wife, three kids and a huge assortment of rhythm and blues, doo-wop, and be-bop jazz albums which he played non-stop any chance he got.

Leo's love for music never wavered over the years. His collection grew as he searched high and low for the best music, the rarest records and hidden gems. The sound of saxophones and smooth harmonies filled our house day in and day out (then his own house), creating a soundtrack for our lives.

One rainy evening, as the jazz notes swirled around us, Leo sat me down with a somber look in his eyes. He spoke of his time in the service, of the things he saw and did that changed him forever. He confided in me about the nightmares that haunted him, the memories he couldn't escape no matter how loud he played the music.

I saw a side of Leo I never knew existed that night – vulnerable, haunted, and struggling to find peace within himself. And as the rain tapped against the windowpanes, I realized that behind the pompadour hair (now long gone) and tough exterior, my brother had another side.

He spoke particularly about the fact that he really thought that the only person who had ever loved him was our maternal grandmother, Francisca, affectionately called “Quica” or “Huela” (short for abuela or grandmother in Spanish).

Huela had passed away in 1969 and Leo continued to grieve several years later.

Leo's eyes glistened with unshed tears as he recounted the moments he had shared with Huela, the gentle touch of her hand, the warmth of her hugs that seemed to soothe all his fears. He told me how she used to sing him lullabies in Spanish, her voice a comforting melody that still lingered in his ears. Leo’s tough exterior crumbled in that moment, revealing a heart that carried the weight of loss and longing.

As the rain poured outside, Leo reached for his old jazz records and put it on the turntable. The melancholic notes of a saxophone filled the room, intertwining with his memories of Huela. I watched as he closed his eyes, lost in a world where music and memories merged into a bittersweet symphony.

In that moment, I realized that Leo's love for music was not just about the rhythm and the beat; it was a lifeline connecting him to the past, to a time when he felt comforted and safe.

In the following weeks, I noticed a change in Leo. He spent more time flipping through old photo albums, tracing his finger over faded pictures of him and Huela. Sometimes I would catch him lost in thought, a distant look in his eyes as he relived memories of her warm embrace and sweet lullabies.

One evening, he dug out an old shoebox from the back of his closet and pulled out a stack of yellowed letters tied together with a fraying ribbon. With a trembling hand, he opened the first letter and began to read aloud in a voice thick with emotion. They were letters from Huela, written in Spanish during his time in the service, filled with love, encouragement, and reminders of home.

As he read each word, tears welled up in his eyes, tracing a path down his weathered cheeks. The weight he had been carrying lifted ever so slightly, replaced by a profound sense of comfort and solace. It was as if Huela's words had reached him at a level that he had only felt from her.

It helped me to remember the many hours we had all spent in her bedroom watching a small portable black and white television with her, even though we thought that she didn’t understand English enough to keep up. We assumed she just wanted us to be in her room.

She had broken her hip several years prior and had been confined to her bedroom, except for assisted trips to the bathroom for baths and such.

My obsessiveness with sports in general and with basketball in particular, could be traced to the natural changes and, perhaps (some would say) fracturing of my family during my elementary and middle school years. As German graduated from high school and went to Chicago for college, much of my energy and motivation focused on sports and my participation in baseball, football, and then my concentration on basketball. It was my escape and my sanctuary.

What also contributed to the fracturing was Leo’s sudden divorce from his wife and the eventual move that his ex-wife and three young children made to Asia. Leo’s ex-wife married a man who was in the military who eventually was assigned to a post in Asia. I had been quite close to my niece and two nephews. They were more like siblings to me. It was quite a shock and adjustment for the entire family. But it also required me to find something to distract me and focus my energies upon.

After his divorce, Leo and I spent much time attending UTEP basketball games whenever possible or watching them on television. He was also a civil servant who worked on the military base at Fort Bliss that was not far from where I lived. He would bring me on to the base and I would walk over to the gymnasium and play pick-up basketball games with the soldiers and other personnel there, many of whom were quite gifted. It was quite an education to watch them and compete with them on a regular basis. It was surprising how many high school and college athletes would congregate at the gym on the military base to get into some highly competitive games that seemed to go no-stop through the weekday afternoon, evenings and weekends. It was not unusual to occasionally see a professional or retired NBA player playing there or working out in the off-season. It was quite a show.

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You might even envision emerging civil rights and racial equality movements. And there was this:

In social studies one day, we were discussing the various branches of the government.  The teacher, Ms. Burns, was leading the discussion in which, surprisingly, most of the students were actively engaged. 

Despite this lively discussion, a smaller group discussion was taking place about the merits of the Los Angeles Lakers and the New York Knicks, two of the best and most well-known teams in the NBA.

One of the students in this smaller discussion said, “Neither team will win the championship...I think...”. 

At that moment, Ms. Burns, interrupted.  “So, yes, Rick, who will win the championship?”

Enrique, interjected, “Yeah, Rick, who?”

Ms. Burns then said, “Enrique, stay out of this, if you want to answer a question, answer the one about role of the Executive Branch of the government I just asked.”

None of the students called Enrique by his given name. He was Hispanic and very dark skinned. We all called him “Hershey” like the chocolate.

Hershey quickly said, “The role of that branch, I think, is to keep all the birds from falling down to the ground.”

Ms. Burns said, more sternly this time, “Enrique, you don’t know what the Executive Branch does, do you?  Because you didn’t read the assignment, did you?”

Enrique said, “No ma’am, I didn’t.  I went to our basketball game last night and I got home too late.  Do you realize that they start those games at 7:30 at night?  That is very irresponsible of the school to start those games that late at night, don’t you agree?  That is what the Executive Branch should make rules about.”

Enrique and Rick were the managers of the varsity basketball team and travelled with the team to all games. As managers, they were responsible for getting the uniforms and warm-up suits ready for the game, getting the equipment ready (towels, basketballs, clipboards, chalkboards, water, etc.) for the coaches and players.

Ms. Burns said, “Enrique, I am tired of you not reading the assignments for class.”

Enrique continued to talk to the classmates around him in a sarcastic whisper.  “Sounds like I do know what the Executive Branch does, doesn’t it?”

At that point Mrs. Burns lost her cool and screamed, “God damn it, Hershey…I mean Enrique, would you please shut up!” The class drew a collective deep breath, knowing that Mrs. Burns had crossed a line, and she knew it, too.

Quickly, Mrs. Burns took out her favorite pen and began writing on a colored pad that she took out of her desk.  Everyone in the class knew what a note from that pad was about.

Ms. Burns continued to write her note to the principal.  She said, “Here, take this with you.  I want you to go to the principal’s office. I’m sorry that I have to do this,” she continued.

Enrique said, “Don’t you think you should write the note to the Assistant Principal?  That’s who always talks to me, anyway.”

Ms. Burns repeated, “Enrique, I’m so sorry I have to do this.”

As he walked out of class and headed to the office, Enrique sang, “I don’t blame you at all” in his best Smokey Robinson and the Miracles falsetto voice.  The entire class cracked up.

“I knew that joto (Spanish slang pronounced “hoto”) would get in trouble again.  He can’t keep his mouth shut,” exclaimed Rick.

“He’s not a joto.  He’s too dark to be a joto.  Jotos are never that dark,” another student chimed in.

“Like Michael Jackson.  I think that little kid is a joto.  He’s black, but he’s light-skinned,” said another student.

“African American!” a female student interjected.

“What are you talking about?  What do you think a joto is?” someone else said.

“A joto is a guy that likes guys,” another student replied.

“What do you mean, likes? You all like guys. All you do is hang around guys.  You must like guys.  You never hang around girls.  You never talk to girls.  You just like to talk about girls with guys,” Rick pointed out.

“So, that doesn’t mean anything.  We talk about girls because we like girls,” a male student concluded.

“If you liked girls, you would do something about it, not just talk about it,” another female student said.

“My dad says that a joto is a queer.  It’s a guy who likes girly things, maybe even would like to wear girly things...like dresses and play with things like dolls and jewelry. Those things.” Robby stated.

It was such enlightening conversation.

Meanwhile, in the principal's office, Enrique sat nervously, tapping his foot against the linoleum floor. He could hear the muffled sound of Ms. Burns' voice, who had been asked to report to the principal’s office, as she explained the situation to the principal. Enrique knew he was in deep trouble this time. As he waited, his mind wandered back to the basketball game last night, a double overtime win no less.

Just as Enrique was lost in thought, the door creaked open, and the principal motioned for him to come inside. With a racing heart, Enrique entered the office and took a seat in front of the imposing desk.

Mr. Tyler fixed in on him with a stern look before speaking. Eventually, he said, "Hershey, um, Enrique, do you realize the seriousness of your actions? Skipping assignments, disrupting class, and showing disrespect towards your teacher will not be tolerated in this school."

Enrique hung his head in shame, knowing he had let himself down once again. The principal continued, "But I also know you're a bright student with potential. I know that you are a very good manager on the basketball team.”

“So, what is the problem, Enrique?” said Principal Tyler, the former football coach.

“Usually, I’m bored. Everybody’s bored. We have lots of interesting things to talk about, but most of it doesn’t have anything to do with school subjects,” Enrique said.

Principal Tyler leaned back in his chair, studying Enrique with a thoughtful expression. After another moment of silence, he spoke, "Enrique, I understand that school can sometimes feel boring, but it's important to stay focused on your studies. Getting an education is the key to unlocking a world of opportunities for you."

Enrique nodded, his mind now racing with the weight of his transgressions, but also with the additional weight of smart, sarcastic things to say in response.

"I know, Mr. Tyler. I'll try to do better from now on."

The principal gave him a reassuring smile. "I believe in you, Hershey. Now, I have a proposition for you. How about we set up a meeting with a mentor who can help guide you and keep you on track?"

Hershey perked up at the idea. A mentor sounded like just what he needed to stay motivated and accountable. "That sounds great, Principal Tyler. Thank you for giving me another chance."

As he left the principal's office, Hershey felt a renewed sense of determination. He also knew that Mr. Tyler was going to be communicating with Coach Goodwin about this new episode with Hershey. Hershey was sure that he did not want his status on the team as manager to be in jeopardy. That was his identity.

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The varsity had returned two starters from the previous highly successful season and a number of other teammates who were likely to continue the winning tradition.

One of those returning varsity teammates was also one of the best trash talkers, senior Gino Munoz. He was a four-sport athlete at our high school (football, baseball, track, and basketball.) He was very talented at all four sports and displayed a great deal of confidence and what is known today as swagger.

He was an intense, charming, cheerful, colorful guy with bright red hair and freckles. He was known for his hustle and aggressiveness. Despite that reputation, like many Mexican American athletes of that era, he was labeled as lazy, difficult to coach and lacking in motivation.

I was confused by that label due to his demonstrated versatility and success in multiple sports. What may have also been confusing was his rumored membership in the notorious local gang, the Mafia. There was some fear, trepidation about his impulse control and his unpredictable nature (also a label often thrown around towards Mexican Americans).

Nevertheless, he was an influential team member, considered a role model and leader in the locker room. His constant banter and trash-talking were considered to be helpful to the team and disarming to our opponents. I found his trash talk to be entertaining, but a little intimidating, especially if directed at me.

His voice was also very unique. He sounded like a mixture of Wolfman Jack, the legendary disc jockey, and Little Wayne, the famed rapper.

One of his favorite phrases was “Don’t lie!”

For example, while playing in a game, he would ask his opponent, “Do you think you can guard me?” The opponent would be compelled to respond with “Yeah, I can guard you!”

Gino would quickly respond with, “Don’t lie, you can’t guard me!” And, often, the next time he got the ball, Gino would suddenly and skillfully score and celebrate gleefully while smiling at his embarrassed opponent.

Sometimes, during practice or a game, when a coach would ask a player if he understood an instruction or an assignment, the player would respond with a “Yes, sir,” only to be corrected by Gino who would say loudly, "Don’t lie, ese!”

One day before an important regular late-season game our team was huddled in the locker room. Gino, a senior and co-captain of the team, went around the locker asking each his teammates if they were ready for the game. Each teammate, of course, said that they were indeed ready for the game. Gino would smile and nod affirmatively, reassured with the answer. He would then move on to the next teammate.

When he came around to the locker of one of last teammates to be asked (who was, unfortunately, a regular scapegoat on the team), Gino asked, “Jorge, are you ready?”

Unwittingly, Jorge timidly said, “Yeah, Gino, I’m ready.”

To which, Gino replied for everyone to hear, “Don’t lie, Jorge, you’re never ready!”

Unfortunately, after that overt dressing down of his teammate, Gino and the rest of the team proceeded to howl with laughter. Jorge tried to laugh with them, but the damage was done. In spite of Gino’s attempt at humor and his intention to relax his teammates, Jorge unsurprisingly was not reassured or motivated by the comment. Jorge, who, at best, had a reputation of being inconsistent, had a bad game. More importantly, however, the entire team had a bad game, and we fell to a cross-town rival who was competing with us for a district championship.

At the end of the season, we were left out of the district playoffs entirely, after such a highly successful season just one year earlier.

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The Junior Varsity coach, Coach Henry, seemed to have very little interest in helping his players with their self-confidence. He had very little to say that was not couched in criticism and shame for one’s last play or mistake. Most of the team felt that way, but it was expected and not much of a surprise.

Early in my sophomore season, one of the freshman players, Eddie James, was promoted from the freshman team to the JV team. On the day, he walked into his first JV practice, Coach Henry, introduced him with fanfare that I had never heard from any coach introducing any player in our program.

James was a classically tanned, blond, athletic, player who stood out from the primarily Hispanic student body of the school. With his natural-looking but air blown and feathered haircut, he looked like he had just walked out of the country club on the other side of the tracks. He, in fact, was pretty well known as a tennis player who had already won a place on the school varsity tennis team. It was hard not to be impressed with him.

Don’t get me wrong (there it is again). Despite my description, I welcomed him to the team, particularly if he was going to develop as a basketball player and eventually help us win.

What I did not realize that Coach Henry was picturing him as an eventual replacement for me in the starting line-up. At about the third practice into Eddie’s JV career, Coach Henry, began placing him on the first team practice squad while I was relegated to the second team that focused on defense and making the first team work hard on offense.

When the season started, I was returned to the first team; however, I had had very little time practicing with the first team and did not feel any chemistry with the first team. Awkward, rusty and uncomfortable at the first of the season, my first few games probably did not impress anyone. Unsurprisingly, I began to share more and more playing time in the games with my freshman rival who could seemingly to do no wrong. Though he did not really play better than me, the bar was not set as high for him as he was still developing.

One day, in the middle of the season, while I practiced my shooting at the playground. I was approached the stranger (my unofficial basketball tutor). After immediately telling him about the situation I ask him what he thought about what I should do. He asked a few more questions, pondered for what seemed like hours, and said, “You have nothing to worry about.”

I said angrily, “I have nothing to worry about?! Haven’t you heard a word I’ve said? This is really bad.”

He replied, “As soon as his tennis schedule conflicts with his basketball schedule, he will choose tennis, and the problem will go away.”

“What makes you think he will choose tennis?” I asked, still angry. “He is getting pretty good at basketball, and he plays as much as I do.”

He replied, “Because country clubs and tennis lessons are expensive. His family has invested a lot of time and energy into tennis, and they are not about to throw all that away for a chance to play with a bunch of good for nothing Mexicans.” He continued, “You just watch. Maybe this summer, maybe during fall practice, or maybe later, he will be gone as suddenly as he arrived. Poof, problem solved.”

As the weeks went by, the stranger’s predictions seemed to be coming true. Eddie, despite his initial promise, began to struggle with the balance of tennis and basketball. He missed practices and games here and there, and eventually, it was clear that he was prioritizing tennis. He was not willing to let go of the country club lifestyle, and it seemed he had no intentions of playing on the JV team for much longer. Coach Felix was tolerant of his absences for some reason, but I didn’t think Coach Goodwin would put up with it when Eddie got the varsity squad.

As promised, James' tennis schedule did eventually conflict with our basketball schedule. He missed a few practices and then, unsurprisingly, Coach Henry decided to bench him for a few games as a punishment or wake-up call. It seemed that the problem was resolved, at least for the moment. But as the district championship was still up for grabs, I couldn't shake the feeling that this was only a temporary solution.

As the season’s end came closer, my instincts told me that the stranger was right. Eddie James never missed a basketball practice, but he also never missed a tennis practice or tournament. And it was becoming obvious that he was making rapid progress as a tennis player. Even at basketball practices, he would often focus more on his tennis swing during lulls in the action than on his basketball moves.

But I couldn't help but feel a bit jealous of him. Maybe it was the fact that he had such a unique haircut that stood out from the other players, or maybe it was the fact that he was already a varsity tennis player while I was still to trying keep my status on the junior varsity basketball team.

One day, I decided to confront him directly. "Hey, man, why are you so focused on tennis?" I asked him. "Don't you want to be a great basketball player too?"

He looked at me with a mix of surprise and amusement. "I do want to but, you sophomores seem to have a bond that I can’t seem to break into. You all have something special.” I had not seen that at all, and I think it took an outsider to see that comradery.

During one particularly intense game against one of our rival schools, I found myself sitting on the bench more than usual. Coach Henry seemed to have full confidence in Eddie, giving him more playing time and crucial moments on the court. The frustration bubbled inside me, threatening to boil over. I almost did not notice that we did not have possession of the ball and there may not be time for one more play for us to get the win.

In a spirited but heated timeout, as the Coach Henry laid out the final play if we got the ball back, I felt a surge of determination as he called my name to enter the game. I assumed it was for my defensive hustle and knack for steals. Uncharacteristically, he also kept Eddie in as well. This was my chance to prove myself, to show that I belonged on that court just as much as Eddie. Soon after entering the game, while our opponents were trying to run out the clock, I anticipated a pass towards the player I was guarding. Stealing the ball and dribbling quickly down the court, I looked at the clock.

With seconds ticking away, I saw Eddie open with a great shot opportunity. As the seconds seemed to go in slow motion, I had a decision to make. Should I pass to my teammate and allow him the chance to shine, or should I continue to dribble the ball and take it upon myself to score?

Despite my mixed feelings, I instinctively passed to the open man. Without hesitation, Eddie turned to the basket and let the ball fly. I turned away, unable to endure the outcome or consequences of my selfless decision. But our home team crowd let me know that I had made the right decision as they let out a roar.

Much of that season was a blur. as I continued to struggle to find my footing, both on and off the court. I tried to focus on improving my own skills, but also felt good that I had made the right decision at a crucial time in the season. With that I could live with it and the season, as difficult and unsatisfying as it was overall.

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