I remember well

The day my black son walked onto the court

With a sweatband on his forehead

(It was a particularly sweaty season).

The coaches nearly lost their minds.

Cocky, arrogant, and full of bad attitude

Is what they said. Absolutely no player

Would display that show of insolence on their court.

Sweat in his eyes will keep him humble.

I remember this every time

The short white kid walks on the court

With his fashion headband and more hubris

Than what will comfortably fit

through the locker room doors.

That headband holding in

His fragile but enormous ego,

As the coaches pander for his intentness.

I remember and I marvel at a world

That can use something as small as a sweatband

To crush one boy’s spirit, while simultaneously

Teaching another that he is preordained

To save the world, and his basketball team.