Life Is Not an Accident Read Online Free PDF Page B

mom instead decided to move to California to live with her aunt. He stayed in constant touch and eventually convinced her to move back east so they could be together. As romantic as that sounds, their relationship became defined by a constant push and pull.
    We lived in a lower-middle-class neighborhood in Plainfield—but literally right down the street from what most people would consider a bad area. Gangs, drugs, and fights at Cedar Brook Park, where I used to go to shoot hoops, were the norm. And I was too young at the time to know any different. All I cared about was minding my own business and finding a basket for myself. I would stay there for hours playing imaginary one-on-one games. My mom and dad had no problem with me going there.
    It was a totally different story when it came to my education. My parents wanted to insulate me from the bad influences that were all too common in the local public schools. So from preschool on, they sent me to private schools. First it was Montessori, followed by Sacred Heart, and then St. Joseph’s to round things out.
    I remember when I was really young, fourth grade or so, there was an announcement over the school PA that they would be holding basketball tryouts. I’d been working on my game—all I could do at that point was shoot the ball with two hands from beside my right ear—and I was so excited that I ran home from the bus stop, threw open the screen door, and started yelling, “Mom! Mom! There’s a shoot-out! There’s a shoot-out!” She immediately grabbed me and pulled me to the ground, saying, “Get down! Get down!” She wanted to shield me from any stray bullets. When I realized what she was doing, I said, “No, Mom—basketball shoot-outs!” The word had a whole different meaning at the school she worked at, a place where you had to pass through a metal detector when entering the building.
    My dad came from a big family in Fort Lauderdale, Florida. His mother, Elizabeth Snelling Williams, was a prominent civic activist and leader in the community, working on causes ranging from at-risk youth to proper care for the elderly. She always prioritized education; in the 1940s, she campaigned for African American students to have a full school term each year, rather than having it cut short so the students could go work the harvest. The city of Fort Lauderdale named a street after her—Elizabeth S. Williams Boulevard. In 1984, she was honored at the White House as matriarch of a Great American Family, for putting all ten of her children through college.
    My dad loved sports, and he passed that love on to me. He had his own way of watching a game. He’d be upstairs in his room and you’d hear this loud stomping sound— Boom! Boom! —as he pounded his foot on the floor. Or Boom! Boom! “No! What the hell are you doing?!” as he yelled at the screen in frustration. But then out of nowhere we’d hear him laugh; it was the most infectiouslaugh in the world. The most random things would crack him up—if a commercial struck him as funny, out came this burst of laughter that always put a smile on your face.
    Because he loved tennis—and was a big fan of Ivan Lendl—I learned how to play the game at a very young age. I also played soccer before I ever took up basketball, because there was a strong Latin influence in the town and that was the sport of choice. By second grade I was playing both of those sports, and I am convinced they helped a great deal once I started basketball, thanks to the footwork from soccer and the hand-eye coordination from tennis.
    Once I was watching a Pete Sampras match with my dad. This was when he was dating the actress Kimberly Williams. They would show her in the stands, and my dad would start telling me how women can mess up your game, how you have to dedicate yourself to your sport if you want to stay focused, and how they have the power to distract you if you