GROWING PAINS - a 20-minute prose exercise
Here’s my 20-minute prose exercise for today. If you’d like to share yours, you can email me here. I’m working on getting a place to share them publicly (anonymously) on here if that’s something you’d like. If not, I’m happy to provide private feedback via email.
Not sure where to start? Read about the project here.
GROWING PAINS
“You know what you have to do, so do it,” Coach said.
I looked at her and wiped the sweat from my eyes. I was panting heavily. My knees were starting to hurt again, the growing pains Mom told me about. The ones that would make jump higher and move faster than before. Maybe even dunk.
“Harper,” Coach yelled. “Do it!” She blew her whistle.
I grabbed the rope that hung above me and started to climb, my scrawny arms already shaking.
“Faster, Harper. You need to beat your last time to pass.”
Screw your timer, I thought. I can’t do this. I can’t climb this goddamn rope any faster or better than the last time. Hell, I didn’t even make it to the top.
“Haul ass, Harper!” One of the boys below me yelled. The other kids were screaming, some mocking, others cheering me on.
Those sharp pains were in my knees again. I could feel my sweaty palms loosening my grip on the rope.
How was I supposed to do this? I was too small and skinny to do any of this stuff. I hadn’t even hit a hundred pounds yet. I didn’t want things to change, but they put me in this new school anyway.
“Life’s going to happen, Son,” my Dad told me. “It’s up to you to decide how you live it.”
I thought about that over and over again trying to climb that damn rope. What was he even talking about? If life is going to happen anyway, why can’t I just go along with what it provides? I don’t need to be good at climbing this rope.
“Come down, Harper,” Couch yelled.
I looked down at her, and I was shocked to see I’d made it to the top of the rope. So, I started to descend. My hands were so sweaty it was hard to keep any grip with them and my feet were tired, too. I slid down the length of the rope, fast, burning my palms and fingers. When I hit the mat, everything went dark.
I opened my eyes to all the kids bending over me checking me out.
“Stand up, Harper,” Coach hollered.
She’s gotta be the worst gym teacher there ever was, I thought. I sat up and one of the other boys helped me to my feet.
“Come here,” Coach said.
I stood in front of her. “Yes, Coach?”
“Take a knee.” She knelt.
I knelt, too, my joints aching like they were on fire. I winced in pain, but didn’t make a sound.
She leaned close to me, her husky frame towering over me. “See? That’s what happens.”
I was confused. “When what happens?”
She smiled at me. “When things suck but you do them anyway. It might hurt a little, it’s not going to always be comfortable, but you’re alive. You’re still breathing. As long as you have that you’ll be okay.”
She patted me on the shoulder and stood up. “Five laps everyone.” She blew her whistle.
Everyone groaned and started jogging around the gymnasium. I stood up and looked down at my hands. They were going to be marked up from rope burn for a while.
“Better go to the nurse’s station and get those hands looked at,” Coach said without looking at me. “If she clears you, come on back for some layups.”
I nodded and started toward the door, but then I looked back. “Say, Coach?”
“Yeah?”
“Do you think I could learn to dunk?”
She smiled and looked over her shoulder at me. “Keep at it. You’ll get it.”
I smiled, almost forgetting about the pain in my joints and the burning in my hands.
When I was asked to give this commencement speech today, these lessons came to mind. They’ve seen me through more than just my career or a basketball game, but through all aspects of my life. So, as you go off on your journey, remember this: life’s going to happen. It might hurt, it might suck sometimes, there’s going to be growing pains, but it’s going to keep happening. It’s up to you to decide how you’re going to live through it. Choose wisely and be thankful for the little things. Congratulations, graduates. Make us proud.
