King of the Court (For a Day)

What started as a simple trip to the gym with my son became a reminder about identity, perspective, and the moments our kids remember most.

Yesterday, I felt like a kid again.

For the first time in 15 years, I played pickup basketball.

What started as a trip to Laurel Hills with one of my sons turned into something far more meaningful than I expected.

What We Expected

The entire morning, Liam was asking if we could go up to Laurel Hills to get some shots up, while his little brother McDaniel stayed behind with a cold. We'd be there soon after the gym opened at 1:30pm to get an hour of shooting in, while recording the NCAA game that started at 2pm. We'd get home by 3pm, catch up on the game's first half action, fast-forwarding through commercials and half-time, and be long-settled prior to the most anticipated of the tournament - Duke vs. UConn.

What Happened Instead

We walked into a packed gym, music playing, courts full, energy high. "I guess open gym started before 1:30pm?" I was there to rebound; playing was not part of the plan.

Then my son looked at me and said, “You should play.”

I laughed it off at first. Told him I was good. Told him I was there for him. Told him I was not prepared. But the truth is, I was hesitant.

"Dad, you have your shoes. You REALLY should play."

My son has never really seen me play before. He knows me as dad. He knows me through work, through community, through everyday life. He's seen me shoot around with him hundreds of times, but running up and down with adults? Na. He has never seen the version of me that grew up in the gym, competed for hours, and found confidence through the game. Some of my earliest memories are of watching my own father play, and without fully realizing it, I think part of me wanted to give my son a glimpse of that same experience.

The Hesitation

Then someone came over. The cat who had next. "Man, you want to run with us?"

Clearly 40+, before I answered, he said, "if I can do it, you can too."

Still, I looked around the gym and had the same thought many of us have when revisiting something we have not done in years: do I still have it?

There was only one way to find out. I looked over at Liam - "you sure you're good with me playing?" He shook his head positively in excitement.

The first few minutes came with some nerves. The gym was full. The pace was fast. My mind remembered what to do, but I was not sure my body was ready to follow. Then I saw a young man I used to coach years ago walk into the gym. I went over to say hello, and in that moment, something settled. Familiarity has a way of restoring confidence. I stopped overthinking and just played.

Back on the Court

And then we kept winning.

After every game, I walked over to my son and asked if he was ready to go. Each time, his answer was the same:

“No, Dad. We’re here until you lose. You’re king of the court.”

Two and a half hours later, we left after going 7-0. The other old head, who asked me to play at the beginning, said before the last game - "This the last one for me, let's get it." Say no more.

Somewhere along the way, I stopped paying attention to the time and started enjoying the moment. I had forgotten how physical pickup basketball can be. I had forgotten the rhythm of it, the pace, the unspoken rules, and the way every possession demands something from you.

And yes, because I am still wired the same way, I kept a mental note of my three-point percentage all afternoon - 35%. Nothing to write home about for a shooter who prided himself on 45%+ from three against top tier talent in my younger years. But it created a line in the sand. A marker I could improve upon. Concept proven - I could get up and down the court with mushy legs and still stretch the court. The shots will fall.

But that was not really the point.

There is a difference between remembering who you were and rediscovering what still remains. My body may not be conditioned the way it once was, but the instincts were still there. The competitiveness was still there. The joy was still there. I left the gym encouraged, not discouraged. Energized, not defeated.

What Made It Worth It

That stayed with me.

As life moves forward, many of us step away from the things that once shaped us. Not because they no longer matter, but because responsibility takes over. Career. Family. Obligations. Deadlines. Leadership. Over time, parts of who we are can quietly move to the background.

But every now and then, life gives you an opportunity to reconnect with something that once brought you fully alive.

That is what this experience gave me.

It was not about proving anything. It was not about trying to relive the past. It was about being reminded that some parts of us do not disappear. They just wait for the right moment to be reawakened.

Later that evening, I was definitely feeling the effects of 2.5 hours on the court and wondering whether it had all been worth it.

Then my wife asked my son what the best part of his day had been.

Without hesitation, he said, “Watching dad hoop.”

That answered the question.

It was worth it.

Not because we went 7-0. Not because I still managed to lead many of our wins in scoring. Not because I proved anything to the gym.

It was worth it because my son got to see a different side of me. It was worth it because I was reminded of a part of myself I had not tapped into in years. And it was worth it because moments like that stay with you.

Sometimes the value of revisiting an old part of yourself is not about proving you still have it. It is about remembering what still matters. For me, that day was not just about basketball. It was about joy, perspective, and giving my son a memory I hope stays with him for a long time.

That made it worth every second.