SURPRISE! Oh No, Little Bro!

WINSDAY WISDOM Session 34

Christmas time was always special at our house. The anticipation of Christmas morning was the highlight. Our parents splurged to make our dreams come true. Later years revealed the sacrifices they made to create lifetime memories for their three sons. Their created tradition continues in all our families.

The most notable Christmas gift for me was an official NBA basketball. Bright orange. Genuine leather. Special edition. Expensive. It had the NBA logo and the signature of Bob Cousy, point guard for the champion Boston Celtics.

I was thrilled. A new basketball. Official NBA. Autographed by a player from my favorite pro basketball team. It could not get any better than this. But it did!

All the gifts had been opened. It was time for breakfast. As I bounced the ball through the house, Dad opened the curtains to the backyard. A new basketball goal had been erected overnight. I shouted and leaped into my dad’s arms. Then I hugged my smiling mom on my way out the door to shoot some hoops.

The “swish” of a basketball going through the goal and net remains one of my favorite sounds. The special noise of a perfect shot is pure sweetness. I played basketball the entire day and into the evening shadows. I cleaned off the basketball and placed it on the washing machine. In hindsight, I should have slept with it.

The next morning, the basketball was flat. The NBA logo was dented inward. The ball would not bounce. Not even a little. I cried. Dad got an air pump, but the ball would not hold the air. Faint hissing sounds came from several places on the ball. I cried again.

There was no joy in Mudville that day. I was heartbroken. I could get another basketball, but not like this one. This special edition basketball was not available in the sports store. It could not be reordered. Dad had made special arrangements with a sporting goods company to obtain it for the holidays.

What happened? That was a mystery. Dad’s inspection revealed that the basketball had numerous tiny little holes in its cover. Maybe a dozen or more punctures. The deflated basketball did not have a blowout. It was more like the slow death of a thousand leaks.

Our Sherlock Holmes mother discovered the missing clue. She found a thumbtack on the table. She raised the question. Could this be the cause?

Mom was famous for her detective prowess. She could call out a cover-up lie before you had finished your first sentence. She once busted a drug ring at school. Some kids in her English class were passing around white pills. She confiscated the evidence and marched them to the principal’s office. The subsequent interrogation revealed the “little white pills” were actually Tic-Tac fresh breath mints. Her sons gave this silver-haired sleuth the nickname of Starsky and Hutch. (For the younger crowd, Starsky and Hutch was a popular television show about two Southern California undercover police detectives and their confidential informant, Huggy Bear.)

Given time, our Starsky and Hutch mom would have used Bill’s science kit to obtain fingerprints, but intense questioning was more her style. It produced quicker confessions. She rounded up the usual suspects. She served as prosecutor with Dad serving as judge and jury.

Could my little brother have done this? Surely not.

Dad pushed the thumbtack into the ball. It took some effort. He concluded it would be too difficult for a little boy, even if the tiny tyke had the inclination. It would take a lot of strength.

I immediately suspected little brother. He was never a mean kid, but he was mischievous. He could agitate with the best of them. Still does, only with more sarcasm. My youngest brother was not much bigger than the basketball, so he was not a potential defendant.

So, we had a suspect and a weapon. Was there a motive?

Bill wanted a Fort Apache toy set for Christmas. It had the big tin fort, the plastic soldiers, Indians, horses, and cannons. He did not get his wish. Mom said that his older brother had one and did not take care of it. Interpretation: I left it all over the floor.

Bill wanted another gift for his birthday earlier in the month. I think it was an Erector set (pre-Legos). He was persuaded to change his mind. Reason: His older brother had the game and did not like it. The Alamo set with Davey Crockett, coonskin hat, and the Mexican soldiers was out of the question. There was one boxed-up in his brother’s bedroom.

Fortunately for Bill, I was not into science. Mom decided to have a science son in the family since her oldest son had no interest in those things. He got a science kit for his birthday and a telescope for Christmas. Those were great gifts and he loved them. Dad gifted the fledgling scientist with a football jersey in hope of a future quarterback.

I am just saying there was a plausible motive for little brother taking down the bouncing ball. Pent up resentment. Revenge. Jealousy.

I do not think his inquisitive mind needed a reason. This early action was just a clue to his need to marry a special ed teacher to harness the potential. There was a sharp tack and there was a shiny basketball.

What would happen if……? Curiosity killed the cat.

The parental discussion continued as the family sat around the table. Dad said he was sure the thumbtack was the cause of the ball’s deflation. I might have accidentally bounced the ball on the tack, but that would not explain the multiple punctures. The younger boys were not strong enough to push the thumbtack into the hardened cylinder.

As Dad rotated the ball in his hands, Bill identified himself as the cause of the flat basketball. His revelation was not really a confession. It was more of a proud announcement that he was strong enough to push the tack into the basketball.

Oh No! Little Bro!

Our dad challenged him to prove it, knowing it would be more difficult for the tack to penetrate the flattened leather surface than the inflated one. Cool Breeze was always up for a challenge. The guilty culprit proved he could do it. In fact, he was extremely pleased with his completed experiment. With each new puncture, his smile got bigger.

Somehow, little brother failed to comprehend the magnitude of his destructive nature. Maybe he was doing a science experiment.

If agitation had been a college science course, then Mom had the doctor she always wanted in the family. (She eventually adopted a future doctor into the family, but it never lessened the agitation.)

My first sight of that backyard basketball goal will always be one of my precious childhood memories. The feel of that new basketball and the sound of that first “swish” remain vivid nostalgia. The loss of that official NBA basketball evokes smiles, not tears. Honestly, the imitation leather replacement basketball was more suitable to the backyard court.

NBA basketballs are replaceable. Little brothers are priceless! So are the memories! Some days you think they will never grow up. Some days you are amazed at how big of an impact their grown-up lives have made in this world.

All of us have lost something special to us. It probably made you cry or angry or depressed. You might have considered the “thing” a valuable possession, cherished gift, sentimental keepsake, family heirloom, disputed inheritance, memorable souvenir, or precious picture. Maybe it was broken, stolen, misplaced, damaged, or ruined. It might have ended up in the trash or a Goodwill box.

A grandchild might accidentally drop the expensive smartphone into the toilet. The spouse might back one car into the side of the other. A child might knock the baseball through the window. A family friend might habitually knock over his tea glass at the table like a burst of the Hoover Dam. You might get knocked down in a crowd and lose a shoe. These are only hypothetical.

“Things” do not ultimately matter. People do. That lesson is so hard for us to learn. Even more difficult to embrace. We love our toys, trinkets, and trivia. As we grow older, we cherish our big-people toys, trinkets, and trivia. We might keep them on the wall, on the fireplace mantel, in a display case, a box in the attic, or a safety deposit box at the bank. We might wear “the thing” or drive it around.

The loss of our beloved “thing” might cause sadness, anger, hurt, or remorse over its absence. We miss it, but we were never going to be able to take it with us into the next life.

There is no timeline or finish line for grief of loss. Adjustment to loss just takes time, and that amount of time is different for every person. Time changes one’s perspective. Go at your own pace. Be patient with yourself. You will never forget but you will heal.

I cannot offer a satisfactory answer as to why any loss happens. Whether by accident, theft, or neglect, loss never comes as good news.

It is understandable for your vision to be clouded by sorrow or anger for your loss. Your mind might become flooded with questions concerning why these things happen. If you feel bad and bitter, I want to give you a break today. I ask others to do the same. This is not easy. I am sure your loss is greater than a genuine leather NBA basketball.

The loss of anything cherished is a bitter pill to swallow, and its aftertaste can linger long. In the short term, you do feel “empty.” You are not alone. God is with you and for you. Holding on to that promise is easier when the difficult loss belongs to someone else.

There is a thin line between sweetness and bitterness. In cooking, it could be the amount of sugar. In spiritual things, the difference is hope. In a multitude of unanswered questions seasoned with blame and bitterness, you can still hope in God. When hope gets fully mixed into the recipe, you cannot see it; it just makes everything better.

God purposes to use these earthly life losses to transform us to live and love like Jesus. “Things” come and go. No one gets to drag a U-Haul into the next life.

We live in a fallen, broken world that is the polar opposite of our heavenly inheritance. In this world, things perish, spoil, and fade in value and substance. Something we treasure can be taken from us and defiled. Our best dreams and greatest successes fade, but that also describes our sufferings and losses in this world. They will all perish, spoil, and fade. (#1 Textbook)

The common element of all these various multicolored trials is the experience of grief. The #1 Textbook is very honest about the reality of losing earthly treasures. It never promises we will have loss-free lives. Instead, it guarantees a living hope that is so real and so powerful it shines brightest in the face of trials and loss.

Grief has an expiration date; so do trials. They remain for a little while, if necessary (#1 Textbook).

• Your heavenly inheritance is imperishable; it will never be used up.
• It is undefiled; it can never be messed up.
• It is unfading; it will never lose its value.
• It is unending; it is resistant to death, sin, and time. (#1 Textbook)

There is NO THING that is worth damaging or losing a relationship…NO THING!

Learn that lesson well. You will need it for every year of every relationship.

I am not saying that facing any kind of loss is easy. Sometimes you have to climb up on the mountaintop of pain to see the foretaste of glory. Sometimes being plunged into the depths of darkness provides the best view of just how great and glorious God’s love for you truly is.

Sometimes it takes a thumbtack to put the bigger picture back together.

I still love my brothers. They are worth more than any NBA basketball.

Let’s all love first and love most. That kind of love lasts forever.

Wait! You have a special edition NBA basketball signed by LeBron James?

Let me think about that...and please do not tell my little brother!