So, I was a hyperactive kid growing up in southwest Mississippi. My parents got divorced when I was six and my mom moved us from sunny Southern California to the country town of Fernwood. It wasn’t a big shock to my system because all I wanted to do was play outside, and it seemed like there was nothing to do in Fernwood besides playing outside. My grandparents owned several acres of land and our trailer home sat a few feet away from their nice big house. The yard was the size of a football field in my six-year-old mind. I loved it all, right away and I had plenty of cousins that were around my age to play with. I honestly wouldn’t trade my preteen years for anything. The teen years are another story but I’ll get to that later.
There was a homemade basketball hoop in my grandparent’s backyard that I naturally gravitated to. The hoop had a huge wooden backboard with a cast iron rim. The nets were red, white, and blue, and I thought they were so dope. The pole that the backboard was connected to was a tree that my uncles had cut down from behind the house. Once I started shooting I could barely get the ball to the rim but I was determined to make as many shots as possible through those fancy nets.