9 Comments

So many memories these tales bring back. Half the time I listened to the Angel Fred Flintstone on my shoulder, half the time the Devil Fred Flintstone.

I went to Bob Lanier/ Dick Vitale Basketball Camp.

I was definitely an outsider in that one.

I remember Gilda Radner's nephew went there. He wanted to talk basketball and sports and I wanted to meet his aunt.

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Understandable, though.

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Yeah, I don't really blame me for that desire. But it did hurt his feelings/ grate on his nerves.

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I met Wayne Rogers' son at basketball camp.

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Greg Kelser was my team's coach, so the whole camp got to meet Magic. Mr. Johnson, if you're nasty.

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Those are memories even more specific than I would have of my childhood and I tend to be pretty good on that. Most of my painful childhood memories is me making jokes that didn't land on the playground. And a temper tantrum I had during a lunch time basketball game. I got sent home "sick."

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I was bullied (and occasionally cruel to others) and it took years to be brave enough to be kind.

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If you don't mind my asking, what was your reaction to this post?

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I found it poignant and touching, and I identified with it strongly. It’s very hard when you’re young and you don’t fit in because it seems like the most important thing in the world. When the possibility of fitting in is dangled in front of you it’s almost impossible to resist.

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