Hoop Dreams.

I am never going to SLAM DUNK a basketball into a regulation hoop. Its true. I have finally accepted this because I have finally turned 30. No one has increased their vertical leaping ability after thirty. Hanging on the rim is the closest I ever got. It’s the closest I ever will get. This fact hits hard. See, as a kid I was late bloomer: I was the shortest kid and the skinniest kid. I didn’t hit puberty until late in the game. I think this was a biological act of brilliance on my part: The world was totally unprepared for the intense testosterone fueled adult that was to emerge from my prepubescent form. If I would of busted full grown at 16, I think the government might of come up with some way to try to control me. As it was, I snuck up on them. They were all, “Our brain washing has worked! Everyone today is a complete and total sissy. We don’t have to worry about any badass showing up and doing his own thing. We don't have to brainwash anymore. These teens are so into their “Rico Suave” they pose no threat at all” And then I was all, “I guess I should follow authority... Wait a second, I'm getting hairy armpits! I don’t have to listen to anyone. I am going to do my own thing. Yeah!”
The thing is, I always assumed that doing my own thing would involve doing tomahawk jams from the free throw line. Never happened. I never threw down a double pumped two-handed power jam in traffic. I never even busted loose a 360 degree windmill behind the back finish to an ally-oop. I kept waiting for another growth spurt or some divine gift of increased coordination and athletic ability. It never happened. In a very significant sense, a childhood dream has died.

I can only thank god that my dream of touching a boob came true.