On Our Way To Crazy

In third grade I played on a basketball team called the Wildcats. Our colors were green and white. I was… not good. I played under the basket because I was tall, but essentially all I did was get pushed around and shoot bricks.

Our uniforms were pretty sweet – community center issue green jerseys and shorts with white letters, to which we added white knee socks with green stripes at the top and green knee pads.

That’s right, people. Knee pads. With our jersey numbers written on them with black marker. We had it going on, let me tell you. It looked especially good when we accidentallly put on one knee pad upside down.

My dad tried really hard to get me to wear a certain style of sneakers to play basketball: kelly green Converse high tops. I was HORRIFIED. Green high tops? It was the worst possible thing that could happen to my 9-year-old self. All my friends had puffy white low-tops with double-tongues, and so help me I wanted them too. Dad gave up the fight for the Chuck Taylors and I got my big white shoes.

This year for Christmas, I asked for some Converse. I needed some casual sneakers and they seemed to fit the bill. But somehow, when I picked up a shoebox-shaped package from my dad, it didn’t occur to me what it would be.

They’re not green, and they’re not high tops, but Dad finally got to buy me some Chuck Taylors. He was quick to point out that, should the opportunity present itself, they’d be great for some basketball.