When Papa was in his late thirties or early forties (I can’t really remember), we had a family membership at the local YMCA, and he liked to play basketball. He didn’t like playing with men his age — too slow. He played with the twenty- and twenty-one-year-olds. It was hard and aggressive, and while I can’t really remember how good Papa was at basketball, I do remember how tenacious he was, how he never gave up.

One time he was breaking for the basket, forcing his way through a couple of defenders, when he leaped, shot, landed on his ankle at an angle, and fell in agony with a snap that everyone heard.

As Papa lay there on the floor, rolling about in agony, one of the other players leaned into the group huddled about him and said, “If it’s any consolation to you, sir, you made the basket.”

Tonight, L made a block that won the point but resulted in an ankle injury. A young lady on her team told her, “But L, you won the point.”