I hate to break it to you kid, but you were once a Warriors fan.
Golden State had just won a championship and they were chasing No. 2 the following year. Stephen Curry fever swept the nation and you got caught up in it. You were 4 years old, so I gave you a break. It was those two years of watching playoff basketball that inspired you to want to get on the court. So we signed you up!
I hate to break it to you kid, but the first practice you attended at the Van Nuys YMCA, you cried and said you wanted to go home. I remember telling myself that I wouldn't let some tears keep you off the court because you "needed to learn." Then you looked at me and I could see in your eyes you weren't ready. We left that day and decided to wait another year.
A couple of things happened that help changed your history.
First, you visited Staples Center. It was the day you became a full-fledged Lakers fan. LA played Cleveland. LeBron James vs. Kobe Bryant. It will be remembered as the last time the two would face each other in a game. Two legendary careers colliding in one night. Your eyes lit up when you heard 19,000 people cheering Kobe’s name in unison. KOBE! KOBE! KOBE! You knew of him before but that was the moment you realized WHO he was. The legend came to life and it was that moment when the love for the game and franchise was passed on to you.
Secondly, you shook off any fear and joined the Van Nays Sherman Oaks Basketball League. I hate to break it to you kid, but you weren’t very good at first. You struggled to dribble. You didn’t have the strength to get the ball up toward the hoop. But as time went by and with every practice, you slowly improved. The snippets of videos strung together on social media show the growth of your skill. But for me, the real growth was in the fearlessness and competitive assertiveness you developed. A grit and determination you can’t learn just sitting on the couch.
Malcolm Gladwell says 10,000 hours of practice is the magic rule for one to become great. Believe it or not, there was a moment in the hospital, right before you waited for the nurses to officially collect your stats, which started the clock for you.
Like the baby NFL combine or NBA pre-draft workout, they measured your weight and length and you recorded your first mark in this world. I thought you were the No. 1 pick, a franchise changing player. As you lay there, you started fidgeting and couldn't keep still. Your beanie was on tight, you had a diaper and wristband on. Only other thing on your body was a coat of residue fresh from the womb that gave you life. Perhaps it was that layer of strength that empowered you to attempt to stand up. I did think in those split seconds you were going to somehow rise to your feet. I learned quickly, and some day you will too, that as a father, the expectations of your child tend to rise high above reality.
To be honest, it looked like you started doing push-ups. My dad, your grandpops, was amazed and pointed it out first. You could hear the pride in his voice, shining through an otherwise even-keeled
man.
man.
I was beaming as well. My son was showing super strength. I dreamed of us playing basketball together. I imagined us wrestling and putting you in a headlock. I thought about how I wouldn't let you win at anything because you needed to earn your stripes. Baby Boy, you were an athlete in my mind, before you were even born.
The day you decided to play soccer, you came out like a man on fire. You showed grit and fight on the field and you brought a little flair too. Maybe those “pushups” as a newborn set the tone for the rest of your career. Or maybe, I’m just being a proud dad again. Who knows? All I care about is that you continue to develop into a young man with a passion to compete in everyday life.
In other words, you’ve started the 10,000 hours of becoming you. And that should always be enough. Of course, you’ll have some help, with one million hugs, kisses and high fives from me along the way.
Happy 6th Birthday Ezra Rey Sanchez. The world is yours.
