I'm sure if you wrote CP3 a nice letter, he would reimburse you for the gastric band surgery you had to prepare for the reunion.
I'll even write it for him.
Mr. Paul,
I suppose that you’ve received a flurry of these sorts of e-mails, but I figured there was no reason to keep my hat out of the ring. Your presence is the reason I came to this reunion, plain and simple.
One of my essays was about your assist record and watching NazT Deac cry his eyes out. Without knowing it, or perhaps fully knowing it, you have been an integral part of the lives of hundreds of thousands of people who you’ve never actually met. We watch you play, we come to Winston and hear you speak (though we never bring tape recorders, because we always do as you ask), and most of all, we admire you.
We admire you because you take kids from all over the country and you make them into a family that seems second only to your actual family in your life. We admire you because you taught us that five people together is a fist, while one person is just a finger. We admire you because you are just a shy insurance agent in the dark, looking for some heart. And you always find it.
Like most all teenage boys, I used to stand in my driveway for hours and shoot baskets while pretending that I played with you. Most of this time was spent concocting more scenarios in which I could win the national championship for you by making half courters, three pointers, steals followed by layups, or some combination thereof. I counted down to myself in my head, and if I missed the winning shot, the clock had stalled and I got a second chance. Around the tenth grade I discovered that no, I was not going to play with Mr. Paul.
And then I got to West Forsyth. And discovered that, yes, I am going to play with Mr. Paul. I am going to be his sixth man. We hear about it on TV, how the Forsythians are like a team member, and we think, sure. We’re a team member as soon as we get a jumper. But then we get to Forsyth, and we watch players from all over the country stare wide eyed at us as their jumpers start to clang off the back iron. We get to Forsyth and we hear you speaking, imploring us to be louder, try harder, to give 100%. We get to Forsyth and we realize you are our point guard. Not just the point guard of our team, but you are also our point guard, because you believe that we give you something no one else can and we know that you give us something that no one ever could.
Please still be my point guard. I know that we can find more heart to offer an insurance agent in the dark next year.
Yours,
Bones
West Forsyth 2003
