Stereotypes And Cultural Expectations In Basketball

Who looks at a short Asian kid and says, “he’s going to be a basketball superstar when he grows up.”? The last time I checked, Asian people are pretty scarce in the NBA. Culture tells me that the only teams I’ll ever make are the math or chess team. The only arena I should dream of playing in is Carnegie Hall as the next musical prodigy. No one, not even my own family, expected me to play basketball. Even if there is a quiet voice whispering inside you to try the sport, why would you even listen to those whispers if everybody around you does not expect you to succeed at it? Stereotypes and cultural expectations have built a mountain between basketball and Asians, and I was not planning to climb it anytime soon. But on my first day of 7th
There was a general interest meeting for anyone who wanted to play on the school team. I was confident I could return to my geeky ways if there were no other beginners on the team. As I nervously walked into the gym, it seemed like every kid on the court was born with a basketball in his hand. I stood on the sideline and tried to look somewhat coordinated by bouncing an occasional dribble. I watched in awe as kids came up the court and effortlessly hit shot after shot. They could drive to the hoop with ease and made me feel like I was born with two left feet with their fancy dribble moves. The coach walked out of his office and announced to the group that basketball tryouts would be in November. It was already September, and it would take a miracle worker to bring me to the skill level I needed to make the team. I was short and had never touched a basketball in my life. What was I doing here? The mountain I anticipated was in reality Mt. Everest. I could never see myself in a million years having what it takes to be good at basketball. But I kept hearing soft whispers inside my mind to just try it. Maybe it was because it was a new school year and a new beginning. Maybe it was because I had friends who lived and breathed basketball. Whatever the reason, I signed up for
I was exhausted and every muscle in my body ached. I watched others play but could never figure out what I was doing wrong. The worst part was that I knew others were watching me and couldn’t believe I was even trying to play basketball. The whispers I had heard earlier encouraging me to try something new soon became inner voices of doubt telling me that I was the slowest and most uncoordinated player to ever set foot on the court. I began to think of excuses I could give my coach to withdraw from the tryout list. That is when my friend Tommy approached me. He is an elite athlete and could do almost anything with a basketball. He volunteered to teach me anything I needed to know about basketball. At first, I was hesitant because I did not want his pity or want to waste his time. But then I thought about the kind of friend Tommy was for even offering and my attitude changed. He was not the kind of person to judge me, and I knew his intentions were always sincere. For the next two months, he patiently taught me how to handle the ball and to move my feet. We worked on my shot every day and dribbled the ball until I couldn’t feel my arms. I was nowhere near the peak as far as basketball skills go, but I had at least started the climb with Tommy’s help. The day of tryouts finally arrived; I was so nervous that I started dripping sweat before I even arrived at the gym. Tommy gave me a fist bump and wished me