Basketball runs in my veins. I came from my father. Therefore my veins come from my father. Hence forth basketball has direct connection to my father. I grew up with the name that others feared. The named of Pilling. I recall one night at the church where a mom told her child not to challenge me in basketball because I'm a Pilling. I guess we have somewhat of a corner market.
Peter Pilling grew up fatherless. At times I wonder how he did it? Who taught him how to fill up gas? or put air in the tires? Who was there at his church events? Who gave him high fives? Who would take him up to Idaho to go fly fishing? I couldn't bare the thought of living without my dad. I don't know how he did it.
I attended Canyon View Junior High 7th through 9th grade. In P.E., which I took every year and sometimes twice, my basketball team would win every tournament. I would be the king of the court. I regret not trying out for the school basketball team.
Next year was different I was now attending Meridian School a private school in Provo. There were no cuts from the basketball. They had try-outs just to say that they did. This year I could make a difference, I knew I could lead a team. Around the time of try-outs I was in my Sophomore English class being taught by Mr. Kennington, aka Mr. K., He played basketball as well. He shared with us a story, which we later found out to be a personal story, about a kid who grew up playing basketball. In the story his dad, the bishop of his ward at the time, would set up chairs in the gymnasium for Mr. K. to do drills with while he would attend to bishop's work. The story jumps to high school where Mr. K's dad would never miss a game. He saw every shot taken, every rebound every hustle play. It was the region finals. Mr. K was on the line to put his team ahead in the waning seconds of the game. He glanced to his dad's spot in the stands. It was empty. But he had just been there. Where could dad have gone? He stumbled off the rafters and had a heart attack that killed him. His dad died behind the bleachers. Mr. K's dad died while he was making the biggest free throws of his career.
That story struck me hard. I love my dad. My grandpa Rex, dad's dad, died when my dad was nine years old. When I was nine years old it was the longest breath I've ever held. It was as if the age nine was jinxed and if I made it to ten my dad wouldn't die. When I turned ten my breath was released. I made it. When my little sister was nine I held my breath just the same as I did when I was that age. I didn't want to lose my dad then, nor ever.
During my Sophomore year at Meridian my best friend now and forever, Harrison, was not so good at basketball at the time. I walked into the coach, after try-outs, and told him that I'd like to play and practice with the JV squad because I knew Harrison would be on that team. At practice I was the best. No one else came close to my basketball knowledge. The season did not go so well for me or the team. We were not good. I rarely played in the JV games at the beginning of the year, but towards the end of the season I was starting, and averaging a solid 10 points a game with 2 threes a game. I was making a difference. I consider the decision to practice with the lower squad to be the most regretted decision of my life. If I could have one thing back it would be to practice with the Varsity team.
My junior year I followed Harrison to Karl G. Maeser Preparatory Academy in Lindon. Try outs for this year seemed to be different. Five kids were cut from the team. Although we only played in a charter school league it was still basketball. We started out 1-5. We had a coaching problem which led to the entire team walking out of an unfinished game. We made some changes and I was now a starter. With our record at 1-7 we were on track to play against the undefeated team Pinnacle. All other teams couldn't even come close to winning against them. They came on our home court and our scrappy 1-7 team beat them. Averaging 12 a game with great rebounds and some nice shooting. The game that we had previously walked out on was against Independence. We were back on their court again and we meant business. I got a double-double. Which means double digits in either scoring, assists, steals, blocks and rebounds. I had 13 points and 12 rebounds. I played big. My dad was there and I remember how he always sat the same. His legs crossed with his elbow resting on his top leg. He would rest his head on his hand and would have the smug look of a basketball critic. After each game I would receive a knuckle bump and a "Nice Job." He never told me what I did wrong. That bothered me. I wanted to be better. But he knew, and I knew, that I could only learn if I learned from myself. So I did. I analyzed my game as I played the game. We ended up my junior year with a record of 8-8 and lost in the second round of the tournament.
Senior year. My dad challenged me to score 10 points in one game. This year was the first year that Maeser was in 2a varsity. This was going to be a challenge. On the year we went 1-15. Not I-15 the road but ONE and fifteen. It was the second to last home game. Nothing spectacular about this game. But I loved playing at home. When we were at home the fans were great supporters. They knew we weren't doing great but we had pride. Lion Pride. We could be down 50-20 and I would make a three. The crowd, especially the student section, would go wild! I loved basketball for that reason. So in this game against North Summit I was shooting pretty good. Had a couple shots on target and a pair of threes. I was going to make it to 10. I got the ball on the wing. Pump fake. Fade away shot? Swooshed it. Running down the court I knew my statistics. I had hit ten. I looked up to my dad in his spot, with his legs crossed. I had done it. I flashed all ten of my fingers to him. We both knew I had made my goal. A measly ten points Cj? You're right. Thats not much, but it still brings tears to my eyes knowing that I made my dad proud. He gave an extra knuckle touch after that game. I had made him proud too.
So what? I didn't hit game winning free throws. My dad didn't die while I was on the court. But I didn't need that to happen to make a change in my life. I got my glory and I will forever cherish the feeling of love and pride coming from my own father.
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