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June 27, 2001 // 11:43 p.m. // Life changes today.
There are now NBA players younger than me. Let me repeat that. There are now NBA players younger than me. For years, I idolized guys like Isiah Thomas, Magic Johnson, Michael Jordan, John Stockton, etc. and imagined how it would be to be in their shoes. Now the record scratches, and like Bob Dylan said, "things have changed." There are five players who are likely to embark on a life of riches and fame that are younger than I am. They are Eddy Curry December 5, 1982 (turned thirteen the day Leroy died) Tyson Chandler October 2, 1982 Ousmane Cisse October 20, 1982 Tony Key April 16, 1982 May 17, 1982 Tony Parker January 30, 1983 DeSagana Diop The last date shocks me the most. He was born almost one full year after me. I can't possibly look up to athletes that are younger than me. This hit me hard. Really hard. Maybe it's somewhat of a loss of innocence. Gup's Jeep is finished. One month and one day after the accident, he has it back. We settled on a day for the show. July 7th. Then I talked him into July 28th. Problems with dates inbetween: B is gone from the 16th-21st. Ramon is gone from the 11th-18th, then is gone on August 2nd for good to the marines, Willie, the third key point is away in Virginia until the 26th of July and Domo, not involved but wants to see it leaves on the 9th for the Air Force. To me, the 7th is not possible. He thinks three days is enough to practice stunts, work out kinks, etc. We've spent only one week so far working on this show. The last was terrible, and we spent well over two months. If we fail, it's on his hands. I'm tough. My sister Amelia got her hair cornrowed today, and I figured the time was right to do the same. "Are you tender-headed? If you're tender-headed, it'll hurt." I was scared. I saw my sister squirm, kick, flinch and hiss as my mom twisted braid after tight braid in her hair. Then it was my turn. I used a pick to make my hair bigger, popped on my Get Up Kids CD to lose myself, and awaited the impending doom. And then it happened. A worried look on mom's face, in mid-braid when she said my hair wasn't long enough. What did she mean? I had been growing it for the better part of five months. She tried again, and again and again with the same results. Either my hair wasn't long enough, or the braid would come undone. After my hair began to dry, it began to hurt as each braid was inserted. "See I told you," she snapped at me. So as of right now, I have eight braids running from the front of my forehead to the middle of my head. They're held there by clips. When my mom is more awake tomorrow, she'll finish them, and it's recommended I wear a bandana to bed, something that brought a laugh out of Amelia because of a discussion that got us nowhere when we were respectfully disagreeing over the differences between a bandana and a doo-rag. I'm too tired to make macaroni and cheese, but too hungry not to make it.