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I had put on extra deodorant for that long-awaited day. I made sure the shoelaces on my new “Michael Jordan Pumps” were double knotted. The night before, I even ironed my jersey making sure my last name, Yung, was visible. “Is everyone twelve years old,” I thought to myself as I looked up at my competition towering over me… and my dad. I was on the verge of losing all confidence, I had no answer, my mind only registered an image of giant twelve year olds running me over in the race for a spot on the city league basketball team. But I had no time to doubt myself. Hadn’t I practiced everyday after school until my body begged me to stop? Even after my mom’s ineffective attempts to get me to eat dinner, I couldn’t go in yet; I had to get my lay-up just right. Everyday, with nothing but the chorus of