Out Of Ordinary Experiences Come Monumental Moments

​I watched him walk off the court yesterday. Inside, I somehow knew this was likely the last time I'd watch him play competitive basketball.

I didn't anticipate the emotions; they caught me quite off guard. This was, after all, a YMCA rec league game and not the NBA or March Madness.

But the emotions weren't about what the moment wasn't. They were about hours upon hours in the driveway shooting hoops with him since he was old enough to heave a ball toward a hoop. Or going up to the local college and being his personal rebounder as he fired up 3 point shot after 3 point shot until his arms were too tired to shoot another one.

It was about all the hours of sharing in the game I know he's always loved above all games. There is a special kind of love that happens when you're watching your kid be in love with anything.

It's a gift of the heart, you know, to not know the difference between the NBA and the YMCA. It's a gift of the heart to be standing there on the sideline, alone, watching him walk off, and without anyone else being aware of it, hearing inside you an imaginary standing ovation from a sell out stadium, all for your kid.

It's a gift of the heart to be and feel the entire voice of that ovation.

I sent him a picture of his last shot last night. I told him I was proud of him. And that I will miss those moments.

I told him those moments were a happy place for me.

It is the gift of the heart that it can take quite ordinary experiences and created inside us monumental moments.

And maybe, just maybe, it is a gift of life to become old enough to know that.