Basketball is a family thing for me. When I watch it, I think of my dad, my coach for years, and how he played against and coached others. My whole family played basketball at one time or another. Growing up, I would join my sister and dad as they practiced out front in the driveway after dinner. It was a nightly ritual. At the time, I may or may not have been on a team, but I would be out there with them, learning new techniques of how to guard someone and trying to inch my way back to successfully make a three-pointer. I also learned how to quickly recover after getting smacked in the head with a basketball.

In these practices, I learned that the best form to have while shooting is by holding the basketball in your dominant hand like you would hold a pizza box from the bottom. Then, you’d gently rest the ball on the side with your other hand. When you go up to shoot, only your prominent hand shoots up. As far as dribbling goes, I apparently had a difficult time not looking at my hands (please see the photo above, so my dad got me these goggles to put on my face to keep my hands out of sight. They honestly really helped me, and hey, I looked cute too.

I mean, look at me. Look at that smile. It’s pretty evident that I love the game, and the game loves me.

I remember one game in particular with my first co-ed team. (Don’t worry, I did not wear those dribbling goggles in actual practice or during games.) I don’t know what got into this girl, but once she grabbed the ball, she held on for dear life and took off up and down the court. The referee had to blow the whistle, and my dad explained how traveling was against the rules of basketball. He was very sweet with her even though traveling was an obvious no-no, and it was evident that he was the dad of all girls. He had to put up with our emotional outbursts, constant fighting (looking back now, the fact that we ever fought is hilarious because we’re all very close now), and other things that happen in an all-girl household. He was a quiet but sweet and calming guy, and any amount he opened up to you seemed like a gift because he didn’t do that for everyone.

My dad as a high school sophomore on his basketball team.

My dad was just the coolest basketball player. I think it’s pretty obvious where I got my style from when our pictures are side by side.

I’ve always been interested in seeing basketball games live. I always thought, If I’m going to see any sport live, it’ll be basketball. Football or baseball? I could care less. Basketball is something that I knew the rules to, and it’s something I enjoyed doing with my dad. However, I stopped playing basketball after my dad died. He passed away when I was 12, so I only had elementary and middle school years’ worth of basketball experience, but it was enough to instill the rules and love for the sport. I’ve lived in Oklahoma since I came here for college, and I only went to my first OKC Thunder basketball game last year with my friend Ann (see picture). From that one game, I became hooked. As one might have guessed (as well as my friends), I am a big Josh Giddey fan. He is the Australian/Oklahoman/basketball-playing Timotheé Chalamet the world needs. Maybe one of these days I’ll get close enough seats to be able to take a close-up of my boi. But that will be the day that I physically melt on the shiny wood floor of the court and embarrass the hell out of myself. My other favorite players are Shai Gilgeous-Alexander, Lugentz Dort, Tre Mann, and Jaylin Williams. Which Jaylin Williams, you may ask? All of them. I love my Thunder boys. Each game I go to is a bit bittersweet—I always think how much my dad would love to join me to watch my new home state’s NBA team play, and I think of how happy he would be for me for finding so much joy in these games.

Reagan Fleming