Good Show

My grandmother on my dad's side is one of my favorite people. We shared a love of basketball, Mexican food, and Werther's originals. (She always had them in her purse.) She used to tell me I was her favorite. Somehow I believed her every time, even though I'm pretty sure I'm not the only one she told that to.

Before she passed away, my grandmother suffered from ALS. She had a very difficult time speaking and rapidly lost control of her body while her mind remained intact. It was extremely hard for me to be around her during this time. One thing she loved was to sit on the front porch in her wheelchair when I got home from school and watch me shoot baskets in the driveway.

Grandma was the world's best cheerleader. Every shot I took received one praise or another. "Good shot! And another good one! And another good shot!" Each exclamation had a slightly higher and more excited pitch...until I earned an, "Oh, so close! Shoot it again." No shot, whether good or bad, was ignored. When I finally decided to quit, she looked just a tad bit disappointed but would always smile and say, "Good show!"

I remember thinking it was silly of her to celebrate every shot I took. Looking back, I think she had the right idea. In fact, I wish I had a tiny grandma in my ear to celebrate each little victory with me, and encourage me to try again when I fail. Though I feel I'm better at basketball than I am at life, perhaps if I learn to appreciate the small greatnesses, I can look at myself and think, good show.