One of the highlights of my year this year was when my oldest son invited me to play ball with him and some of the guys at work. We went to the OU gym and I had a blast! I didn't realize that this was such a big thing until a friend pointed out that there probably aren't a lot of 43 year old moms hanging out at the gym and playing basketball with college guys. It made me feel way cool.
I started playing basketball late. I was a sophomore in high school. People kept telling me that because I was tall, I should be playing basketball. So I went out for the team. I was put on the B-team of course, but really lucky because our A-team went to State that year and the next. I got to be with the best. We had a class hour set aside for basketball, and we also practiced after school during the season. Our coach was a stickler for the fundamentals, and yet we learned advanced concepts too, plays and zone defenses and the particulars of man-to-man defense. It all fascinated me. The players on the B-team were all told they could come to the A-team practices and shoot on the sidelines. I was at every single practice, shooting and watching the A-team run the plays over and over again. Sometimes the coach would put me in the scrimmage at the end of practice. I was really proud of my progress. By my Junior year I had improved enough to dress out with the A-team. We went to state again and I had a blue and gold letter jacket decorated with patches. I loved that jacket!
All this was a grounding experience for me at a time when my home life was rapidly deteriorating. I had trouble getting to the games. I'd walk miles home from practice, and yet I was determined to participate no matter what. My mother never attended even one of my games. Along the end of my Junior year, my mom stopped coming home, first for a night, then several nights, and then for two weeks. I was the oldest of four children. We were taken away from her and two weeks into my Senior year, just as I was poised to step up and hopefully become a starter for our team, we moved to a very small Missouri town, population 400. I was now in a Senior class of 25 teenagers who had all known each other since grade school. I played basketball there, but it wasn't the same.
After I graduated, I didn't play basketball again until I went to Iran. By that time I had two small sons at home. I mentioned that I loved basketball in one of the English classes I taught, and one of my students told me there was a basketball class in a nearby gym. I went to a practice and was immediately invited to join the team. I did and for the next eleven years we played ball! We lost a lot in the beginning and went through a lot of trial and turmoil. Basketball is not the most appreciated activity for a Muslim woman who is expected to be chaste and ladylike. A lot of the girls had to really work hard to convince their families to let them play at a competitive level. Even I would never have been able to do it if not for my sons incredible aunts, who took care of them when I was at games and tournaments. Eventually we improved and were able to represent the city in different tournaments and eventually we joined the National League and worked our way up from Level 3 to Level 2, and then to Level 1. We really worked hard for that. We even had a sponsor, Homa Air. That was Awesome! The next level is the Superleague. The members of the National Women's team are chosen from players on Level 1 and Superleague teams. They then play womens teams from other countries. I credit Basketball with saving my sanity. The cultural difference was stressful, not to mention the fact that I was trapped in Iran and not allowed to leave the country. I would be at home, and upset with some crazy idea my ex-husband had, or something that had happened with my children that I couldn't control. I would go off to practice in a huff, angry and stressed out. After 2 hours of running, jumping, drills, and scrimmage, I would arrive at home an angel, at peace with the world and clear about how I was going to handle the problem of the day. Even to this day, exercise is my anti-depressant. It allows me to serve myself and the world with energy, optimism, and inner peace.
It will be 5 years in March 2012 since I have returned from Iran. I still play basketball 1-3 times a week, mostly one-on-one with my son. It's funny, men were never allowed to see our games in Iran, only women were allowed in the gym because we wore classic basketball uniforms: tank top and shorts. (I was always number 14) Now we play here at the YMCA and it's our way to bond. We talk trash, foul each other like crazy and love it! Not many Moms can say that their son is not afraid to take them to the college gym to play with the guys. I am truly blessed!
