I’d been watching the girls’ basketball team all season — from the first game of their first season ever, where very few showed any evidence of having played the game before, where one girl received a “traveling” call for carrying the ball football-style while running down the court, where our players froze in place as the other team stole the ball, where the referees pulled our girls aside to teach them the rules in the middle of the game. From that game forward, I had been encouraging the girls, both on the court and in the hallways, letting them know I was seeing their progress. They were not only learning the game –the skills, the rules, and the strategies — they were also building confidence, stamina, and resiliency.
Many on the team were girls I had had the previous year in my reading intervention class. They had been freshmen– freshmen who had spent most of middle school on Covid lock-down, freshmen who had missed some social development experiences, freshmen who had very little capacity to manage challenge, difficulty, or conflict. So when I saw them during that first game, barely hitting double digits on the score board, I wondered if they would make it the whole season. Could they take the losses they would certainly face? Could they [and their coach] see this for what it was — a building year. Could these young women show up every day, practice the basic skills of basketball, and arrive at the end of the season better for it?
Only time would tell.
But here I stood at the end of the season, watching this same group of girls prepare for one of the last games. As the other team was rolling into the building, our girls were practicing an inbounding strategy while the coach called cues from the sideline. The girl with the ball slapped it loudly, and the four on the floor quickly shifted to their new positions to receive the thrown in ball. I stood on the sidelines, recording the scene on my phone, grinning with pride.
I was there to sell concessions, so I was in a little room at the corner of the gym with one eye on the game and one eye on my concession window, when I noticed that one of the players, the center, was shuffle-jogging down the court. I had noticed that she wasn’t a very fast runner earlier in the season, but I had assumed it was as fast as she could move given that she was about 5’10” and probably close to 200 pounds or that she simply didn’t have the stamina to run up and down the court for an entire game. Being the first season, the team only had about ten team members total, and typically only six or seven of them were eligible to play on any given day. Whoever showed up typically played all four quarters — that’s a lot of running for anyone, even those who are are in top physical shape.
But for some reason on this day when I noticed her shuffle jogging, my eyes moved toward the floor and I noticed that her shoes appeared to be untied. When I looked a little closer, it appeared that they were not actually untied, but in a permanently knotted state of floppiness. She could neither tie nor untie them., so the laces flopped as she ran, and the shoes, a pair of high tops that appeared to have seen some days on and off the court, seemed to be of little support in her efforts to improve her pace.
Is this the pair of shoes she’s been wearing all season? Why didn’t I notice this before?
Now look, every day at my school I see need. I see students who need food, who need new clothing, who need a haircut, personal hygiene supplies, pens, pencils, or even a water bottle, but this pair of shoes got to me.
This girl, who against all odds shows up for school every day, goes to basketball practice every day, has a C average, and dares to put herself in front of an audience of classmates, teachers, and parents, has been doing so inside sneaker head culture where the shoes on your feet can be linked to your status, your belongingness, or your ridicule. (It would take another whole post to examine the complexity of sneaker head culture within the context of high poverty neighborhoods, so let me just say that yes, a student may have brand new Jordans and still experience housing insecurity or food insecurity. It is what it is.)
This girl, despite her classmates’ comments and/or ridicule, has enough grit and determination to continue to show up on the court in these beat up kicks for the entirety of the season. That should tell you something about her.
So, I’m standing, watching the game from the concession stand, a game in which an adult in the stands got in an insult contest with one of our sophomores that escalated into a fist fight that DID NOT disrupt the game play — nope, our girls kept right on playing as security officers wrangled a punching mass of bodies out of the gym–a game in which they were down by double digits, came back to tie and go into overtime, a game where they lost by two points at the buzzer, and I’m taking in the wonder of these young ladies who could barely bounce a ball at the beginning of the season, who were making eye contact and passing, who were boxing out under the boards, and I’m understanding the impact of it all on their development — their ability to overcome difficulty, their ability to stay the course, their ability to trust themselves in difficult times.
I was overwhelmed.
A couple weeks later, after the season had ended and track season was getting started, the same group of girls was walking down the hallway, headed to practice.
“Ya’all on the track team?” I asked.
“Yes, of course!” they replied.
“Excellent!” I said.
“Are you going to come to our meets?”
“Definitely!”
And during this quick exchange, I noticed that all of the girls had on the same shoes they had worn to run up and down the basketball court all season — including that beat up pair of high tops.
And something inside me snapped.
A few minutes later I saw the track coach, “Hey,” I said discreetly, ‘I notice that K’s shoes are not really appropriate for track. I’d be happy to anonymously fund a new pair for her. Is there a way to make that happen?”
“I’ll figure out a way,” she said.
A few days later, I mentioned the situation to our athletic director. “I don’t know how many students you have that could use running shoes or spikes for track, but if I gathered a few hundred dollars, could you put it to use?”
“I would love that,” she replied. “Let me take a little inventory and see how many pair of shoes we need.”
So here I am telling this story, friends, because this is what I know how to do. I know how to tell you that having athletics is transformational for all kids — but for my students, who have experienced poverty and trauma beyond what I can imagine, who have every reason to give up hope for a brighter future for themselves, sports can offer an opportunity to practice navigating low stakes wins and losses and build the muscle they need to weather bigger wins and losses outside of sports. For my students, the power of athletics is essential.
My school is doing what it can to build programs. Two years ago, the only sports we offered were boys’ basketball, football, and cheerleading. Last year we added track. This year we added girls’ volleyball and basketball. In the fall, we hope to have a cross country team.
Teachers show up to coach, to run a clock, and to sell concessions because we see the impact of these programs on the educational engagement and morale of our students. If they aren’t passing classes, they don’t get to play, so they get more invested in their classes. When they are invested in their classes, they learn more, their grades improve, and they have more opportunity for their future.
It’s not hard to connect the dots between athletic programs and successful adulthood. We’ve known this for decades. All students should have access to programs that lead to a hopeful future, and they should have everything they need to participate in such programs.
So I’m asking, friends. I’m asking you for help — again. If you love sports, if you love kids, if you have an insufferable belief in transformation, please consider joining me in building an Athletic Shoes Fund for my students. Funds will be used to provide athletic shoes for students like K who cannot otherwise purchase their own.
Email me at krathje66@gmail.com for details on how to give or simply send a check with “DLA Athletic Shoes Fund” in the memo line to Detroit Leadership Academy 5845 Auburn Street, Detroit, MI 48228.
And if this isn’t your project to give to, I hope you’ll keep cheering us on as I keep on sharing our stories.
Next Chapter 