The Crossover

After dinner

Dad takes us

to the Rec

to practice

shooting free throws

with one hand

while he stands

two feet in front

of us,

waving frantically

in our faces.

It will teach you focus, he reminds us.

Three players

from the local college

recognize Dad

and ask him

for autographs

“for our parents.”

Dad chuckles

along with them.

JB ignores them.

I challenge them:

It won’t be so funny

when we shut

you amateurs down,

will it? I say.

OHHHH, this young boy got hops

like his ol’ man? the tallest one says.

Talk is cheap, Dad says. If y’all want to run,

let’s do this. First one to eleven.

The tall one asks Dad if he needs crutches,

then checks the ball to me,

and the game begins,

right after JB screams:

Loser pays twenty bucks!