If I wasn’t watching novelas or cartoons, I was watching basketball. The Jordan Era ignited a love for basketball. Me and my cousins loved to play basketball. They obsessed over basketball. They wanted to be like Jordan. I wanted to be like them. I wanted to play like them. So I did. Jordan was like a super hero. Know one could dunk like him. My cousins loved basketball so much, their dad made them a basketball court. My uncle poured concrete over the dirt and planted two basketball hoops on each end. We practiced dunking. We practiced lay-ups, free throws and short scrimmages. Jordan seemed invincible. So I decided I was going to be more like his sidekick, Scotti Pippin. He was human. I loved watching them play. I loved Rodman too. I loved the Chicago Bulls.
At the time it wasn’t phantomable for a girl to play basketball. Oops. I meant to say fathomable. It wasn’t fathomable for a woman to be athletic the way men are idolized as athletes. So passion for basketball was realistically reduced to a low expectation for greatness in life.