Most nights, just before dinner, I take Heidi– our Miniature Dachshund– over to Jimmy Simpson Park.
It’s now dark at this time, but the lights at the tennis courts come on at 6:30, and this, combined with the ambient light of the neighbourhood, is usually enough to partially illuminate a portion of the park.
There’s usually quite a bit going on. Some people are taking their dogs for walks or kicking the soccer ball around, while others are shooting hoops or messing around in the tennis courts. Heidi and I often hangout in the hockey rink, where I shoot balls about and the dog, like an inky, black rocket, explodes down the rink in mad pursuit.
However, last night the lights didn’t’ come on. It was the first day of December, and the powers that be have likely decided that tennis is now officially out of season, and so that’s that for lighting the tennis courts at night. But still, as it was a full moon, there was a hint of brightness, and those of us that were expecting the lights to be on, stubbornly stayed, pretending that things were the same as ever.
Over at the basketball hoops, three young men prepared to play. They took off their shirts, becoming purple silhouettes set against the night, and then changed into their gear. They then arrayed a bunch of sneakers out on the court and proceeded to do drills.
As I played with the dog, I could hear them. The concentrated and controlled sound of dribbling, the sneakers upon the pavement and the quiet instructions they breathed to one another. It was a beautiful and rhythmic soundscape, and I found myself mesmerized by them.
Two of the boys, who looked to be near College-aged, were exceptional players who moved with fluid ease, while the third, slightly younger, was kind of awkward, as if brand new to the game. The older guys coached him, demonstrating a drill, and then running him through it. They did so without a hint of attitude or condescension, never showing off or putting themselves before their student.
It was protective and beautiful to watch, all of it so quiet and giving and gracious. For the most part, when I see young athletes playing sports, I think of the ease in which their bodies fall into the game, but this modest tableau reminded me of the intelligence and hard work that informed that beauty. There they were, beneath the moonlight on the first day of December, slowly and with great consideration, working in order to become better versions of themselves.
It was nothing short of inspirational.