The Crossover

Dad Takes Us to Krispy Kreme and Tells Us His Favorite Story (Again)

Didn’t Mom say no more doughnuts? JB asks Dad.

What your mother doesn’t know

won’t hurt her, he answers, biting

into his third chocolate glazed cruller.

Good shooting today. We beat

those boys like they stole something, he adds.

Why didn’t we take their money, Dad? I ask.

They were kids, Filthy, just like y’all.

The look on their faces

after we beat them

eleven to nothing

was enough for me.

Remember

when you were two

and I taught you the game?

You had a bottle in one hand

and a ball in the other,

and your mom thought I was crazy.

I WAS crazy.

Crazy in love.

With my twin boys.

Once, when you were three,

I took you to the park

to shoot free throws.

The guy who worked there said,

“This basket is ten feet tall.

For older kids. Kids like yours

might as well shoot

at the sun.” And then he laughed.

And I asked him if a deaf person

could write music. And he said,

“Huh?” then

took out his wrench and told me,

“I’m gonna lower the goal for y’all.”

We remember, Dad.

And then you told us Beethoven

was a famous musician who was deaf,

and how many times do we have to hear

the same—

And

Dad interrupts me:

Interrupt me again and I’ll start all over.

Like I was saying,

I handed both of you a ball.

Stood you between the foul line

and the rim. Told you to shoot.

You did. And it was musical. Like

the opening of Beethoven’s Fifth.

Da da da duhhhhhhhhhh. Da da da duuuuuuuuuuh.

Your shots whistled. Like a train

pulling into the station. I expected

you to make it. And you did.

The guy was in shock.

He looked at me

like

he’d missed

the train.