Personal Narrative - Becoming a Man

Jaree' Redmond

Professor Danielle Blackman

English 101

14 October 2016

Essay #1 Personal Narrative

I used to hold my breath a lot. Cheeks red, lungs burning, thinking any second I would become invisible. Other times, I was like Houdini performing an amazing trick, floating calmly inside a tall glass fish tank sealed with a thousand steel padlocks shut tight. Either escape was appealing. Being invisible would be far better than being seen in my house.

As often as I could, I’d make my great escape to the local recreation center. The quiet, colorful one-story building surrounded by squat live oaks and cedar trees, bustled inside with the screech of soles on wood and the thud-thud-thud of dribbling basketballs.

For what seems like the thousandth time in my short life of ten years, I pull the metal handle, hot from the sun, towards me and feel the whoosh of air conditioning and smell the familiar tonic of the gym. "Heads up Jaree'!" shouts Ricky. I'm not invisible here and I smile widely as I catch the ball inches from my head, happy to be seen.  I wasn't trying to be popular I just wanted to be accepted.  The kids here understood me and I understood them. We helped each other to forget about everything outside and focus on the game inside. There were times when I couldn't find the energy to make it to the recreation center.  Sometimes it was Joshua who came looking for me to get me on my feet. Sometimes it was Austin, and other times, someone else.  The point is,  someone always reached out to remind me that I had choices. The recreation center and the friends I made there gave me an outlet to what was really going on around me physically, emotionally, and morally.

West Seattle and the Central District weren't the best neighborhoods in the 90's. Back then the neighborhood was chock full of gangs, people using drugs, and wide-spread violence. Being home wasn't always the best place either; my mom had me at an early age, so I was constantly around a lot of drinking, parties, and thugs. My mom liked "bad" boys and they were always around. I saw guns, blood, and my mom being physically or verbally abused a lot growing up.

 I was very lonely as the only child for my first six years of life. Then my mom sisters each had girls in 1996 so the attention was not on me anymore. I felt like I had to earn it by competing with myself and /or classmates for better grades or becoming a better athlete. Anything that would help me make myself better than what I was seeing around me at the time. At home I was always being questioned and ridiculed if I was being talked to at all.

"Jaree' you should concentrate more on your education rather than sports."

"Jaree' you're never going to be anything if you keep playing those video games."

"Jaree' why don’t you go outside and play."

"Jaree' have you done your chores yet?"

My aunts would say that to me to the point I would ask myself if I was adopted. But when I brought home my report card with A's and B's or bragged about me doing something extraordinary that day I wouldn't get the satisfaction I thought I had deserved.

The recreation center was my sanctuary and I never took anything personal when I was playing basketball. It always felt like constructive criticism for me to get better at my craft. It didn't matter if I was picked last because I knew I would prove any doubts about me wrong on the court. If my shots were off or my passing sucked, I stayed after and kept practicing and I got better.  Every time there was a challenge it provided an opportunity to grow: how to get along with a difficult person (teammates or coach), how to persevere and continue to compete when you are in an unfair situation, how to stand up for yourself or ignore negative people, or how to fight through adversity out of your control.