I've written a little about how my kids are starting to be drawn to the game of basketball. It's heartwarming, especially considering the fact that I haven't dragged, coerced or otherwise forced them to embrace the game.
My history goes from grade school (not much pt), to junior high (that's an eight foot rim, btw) and then high school. It really ended after college, though I still mistakenly believe I can play.
It's like this: I'm slow, my jump shot is erratic, I couldn't defend a toddler (I mean I'd hold him under 10 points, and he might get frustrated, but he'd be able to get his shot off whenever he wanted). And I'm probably good for 6-8 minutes a game, due to my limited stamina. Other than that, my game is as tight as it has ever been.
Maya and Kevin are just getting started though. They looked forward to being able to stay up and watch part of the NBA Finals, which start way too late for kids. I mean, if the NBA ends up missing out on a generation of kids, it's going to be because they're all asleep by the time the games come on.
So Saturday I was in my element, watching the kids play (and have a great time) and actually do pretty well, in my opinion (which is probably biased). Then, this morning, I get word from big brother that his boy is wreckin' shop down in his basement (check out the shimmy after the jump).
Watch out for these Nana-Sinkam kids. They're carrying the torch...