I got up a bit earlier than yesterday, feeling a lot better than yesterday (perhaps because I got up earlier).
While I was checking up on my favorite weblogs, my mom got home. She was all exited about her visit to the barber shop; not only because of her new hairdo (which is awesome—where's a digital camera when you need one?), but mostly because they (she and the barber) had such good contact. Somehow, they had started talking about Frank's (the barber's) ADHD. He happened to have a book laying around on the subject, which he introduced to my mom. She is now convinced that this what she's had all her life, because the more she read, the more she recognized in herself. She thinks I have it too, and frankly, it has crossed my mind before more than once. I guess I will bring it up during the next session with my psychiatrist (which is tomorrow). My mom was being so manic that she caused some anxiety on my side (I can't handle much nowadays), but she left in time (heading into town).
When she got back, I had gotten myself semi-ready for basketball, but was still at my computer. She said she had ordered the book she mentioned earlier, and that she had some other cool things.
She showed me the series of photos I've been wanting to develop for the longest time—they came out really nice; I'd show them, but both my scanners don't want to work. The second thing she had brought for the both of us was Tony Bennet's Playin' With My Friends: Bennett Sings The Blues; an awesome CD. I thanked my mom with many thanks and went to play some 'ball at my homecourt.
I played for only a couple of hours—there was nobody there but soccer players, and I didn't feel like playing by myself while being constantly bothered by soccer players. I went home and had dinner for two days (which is good since I didn't have one yesterday). After dinner and wasting some time, I went back outside. This time there were some kids that play basketball, and there were less soccer players. The longer I played, the more basket players joined—at one point we even had enough players for a game of full-court five-on-five, and that's what we did.
While we were playing, some really small (7 to 12 year old, I'd say) soccer players arrived and wanted to join us. When we explained they couldn't, they got really annoying and by talking nonsense and getting in the way. When I felt it had been enough I went up to them and acted like I was really pissed off and told them to back off. I even had one of my friends fooled who said I should ease up since they're only kids. When I then smiled and said at least they stopped being annoying
he saw my point.
We finished the game and—while being insanely much better than the other team—lost. We fooled around for a bit too long, and it cost us the game... but non of us seemed to really care (except for the punch I planted on the steal fence because I wasn't able to block the game winning shot—I slightly sprained my hand there... silly me). This event (the loss, not the punch) triggered the soccer kids to break loose again, and boy did they ever; our loss seemed to be the funniest thing in the world. Ever.
I didn't mind at all and actually thought it was pretty funny—untill one of the smallest (probably about 9 years old) started shouting things to me that he (or any person for that matter) really shouldn't be saying. It's something that a nineyearold shouldn't even know about, and something any grown person would have received a fresh one
for (perhaps more). Since I think it's bad taste to teach a kid something by hurting or even damaging it—but did feel a need for a lesson—I decided to give the kid a good scare. How did I scare him? By walking towards him. That's right; walking, not even running.
The kid ran for his life, but some of my younger friends (that did run from the other side) caught him and held him. By the time I arrived, the kid was crying. I said he should have learned his lesson now and told the other kids to let him go. The kid ran away and we went back to the court to shoot some hoops.
Next thing I know, some other (slightly older) kids come and announce that some particularly dangerous man was coming to get us. Hardly impressed, we continued to shoot some hoops. After a couple of minutes, a guy arrived, on his bike, surrounded by hyped up kids. It was exactly the guy who I expected it to be; he's some grandpa that used to be a boxer and bodybuilder or something, and nowadays spends a good share of his days to train kids.
It was a nice picture; the muscles, the tattoos, the golden necklace with the image of a weightlifter dangling on it—really what you'd expect in this kind of situation. Anyway. He asked me (shoutingly) why I had hurt the kid. Before I could answer he said something about him killing me if I had hurt him, or something. I answered; Did I touch him then?
on which Enrique (who was standing by—as were a couple of dozen of other people) told the guy he should turn to the kid first because the kid is lying. The guy turned to the kid and asked what happened. The kid said I had hit him in the face. I said I hadn't even touched him. Then he said I had wanted to. I said I only wanted to scare him and had all the reason to.
Whoops, that chances the situation a bit, doesn't it? Now the guy didn't seem that angry anymore, and not angry at all towards me. He told the kid to give me a hand, and all would be settled. The kid said he didn't want to, which got the guy a bit upset again. A bit scared, the kid came handed out, but I did nothing. I said I was only going to give him a hand if he wanted to and not because the man is telling him. The guy turned to the kid and said that's right, you have to want it.
Wait, what? The guy is on my side now? Now that is funny. I decided to state my case a bit clearer even. I continued; You called me
I didn't hear anything from the guy, but I could sense he was agreeing. I reached out my hand to the now clearly embarrassed kid. After some slight hesitation he took my hand. I tapped him on the head, said [censored]
—which I'm not too fond of—and then you lied to all of us. You are in the wrong here. I am willing to reach out, but if you don't want to; I don't care.good,
picked up my basketball and focused on basketball again.
I didn't watch the guy and the kid leave, but they did so silently. Silent, like the dozen or so people that were still hanging around. After a few minutes some of the kids had processed the past event and started screaming some nonsense about how they thought they were finally going to see some action again.
Delusional kids; this was enough action to shut them up for a good few minutes; any more would have made them weep; heh.
Me and a couple of guys stayed around for the pretty quiet rest of the day; playing some layed back 2-on-2, 3-on-3, and general fooling around. During this I experienced no anxiety, no depression, no grumpyness, no nothing—just me and the boys playing 'ball. We didn't go home until right before midnight.
ACJ3 comments so far.
Interesting title for this post, I must say.
hehe, those kids will be talking about that day for ages it sounds like!
Posted by: Libby on June 6, 2004, at 05:28
I found it pretty hard comming up with a suitable title for this entry, actually. I think this was the fourth or fifth title I came up with before I published the darn thing.
Today, I went to my home court again, and indeed, a lot of people were still talking about the events that took place yesterday. It appears that the old guy himself has been talking it also—some kids that weren't there yesterday said that he (the old guy) had told them that he had hit us and that we had been scared. If this is true, it's a pretty pathetic way of keeping up a reputation, but I can't really be bothered with it.
Posted by: ACJ on June 7, 2004, at 01:52
You picked a good title, IMO.
hehe really? Sounds like one of those stories where events are added on to the real story and it becomes different than what actually happened. The more people talk - the more events will be added to the story. Silly how that can happen.
Posted by: Libby on June 7, 2004, at 03:38