As the last, final, we-give-up-already kid in my family, there's not many photographic recollections of my existence. Oh sure, there's lots of stuff from the oldest daughter who predates me by 18 years. Mom and Pop have stacks of scrap books with her baby teeth and pictures of her first steps and popsicle art from Camp Y Noah (where we would be packed off to every summer so the parents could have "some peace and quiet goddamit.")
There is a gradual decline in the intervening flotsam and jetsam of the two older brothers until finally there's just a battered shoe box from the Johnson administration that contains the momentous events (such as they were) of my kiddom.
So it's with great pride that I present the following swell snapshot from my past. Yup, that's the old man coaching/yelling and apparently posing for a JC Penney's catalog with my basketball team. Fifth Graders to the one of us with the meanest illegal zone defense that league ever saw. We had double screens, out of bounds plays and every other pick up, street ball way to cheat the old man had ever learned the hard way.
Yes, that's me with the bad bowl cut, untucked t-shirt and red Chuck Taylors. Yup, a rebel even back then. I don't roll to no league dress code. Thank goodness the socks aren't pulled up any higher. And those sideburns show that we're locked in the depths of the 70's.
Yup, a "Coaches kid." Just like having your own little field general on the floor: calling out defensive switches, knowing when to take time out, hitting all the free throw shots, setting illegal screens, passing the ball out of bounds frequently from watching too many Magic Johnson highlights. Although back then it was probably Jerry West.
Of course I'm not paying attention. Why? I'm going to shoot as soon as I get the rock. That's "the ball" for you kids who aren't hep to the street lingo of the basketball scene.
No idea who that hanger on in the Mickey Mouse tee is by the way. Probably someone's little bother.
It would be about six more years before reality set in that I was going to be too slow and too small and too bad to do this professionally.