intended for him . . .
NO HATING
Stephanie Perry Moore
& Derrick Moore
BALLER SWAG
All That
No Hating
Do You
Be Real
Got Pride
Copyright © 2012 by Saddleback Educational Publishing
All rights reserved. No part of this book may be reproduced in any form or by any means, electronic or mechanical, including photocopying, recording, scanning, or by any information storage and retrieval system, without the written permission of the publisher. SADDLEBACK EDUCATIONAL PUBLISHING and any associated logos are trademarks and/or registered trademarks of Saddleback Educational Publishing.
ISBN-13: 978-1-61651-885-1
ISBN-10: 1-61651-885-5
eBook: 978-1-61247-619-3
Printed in Guangzhou, China
0000/00-00-00
16 15 14 13 12 1 2 3 4 5
To Ann Redding (Mr. Derrick’s Mother)
We have always been able to stay in our lane because you have been an example of not hating on others and working hard instead to obtaining for yourself. We hope you know that your prayers have seen us through. What a blessing you have been to our lives. You have shown us how little can become much.
You are a wonderful lady with a big heart . . . we love you!
ACKNOWLEDGEMENTS
When you have talent and shine, sometimes jealous folks may come hating on you. This can make you bitter because they do not know what it took for you to get to where you are. This can make you angry because if they only asked, you could help them achieve greatness as well. This can take some of your joy away, since you have no one to celebrate your success with. However, sometimes you bring the haters because of your bad attitude. You might brag, showboat, or boast. You should be proud of your accomplishments, but always make sure you do not get the big head.
We want you to be confident, but not cocky. Keep working super hard to get even better academically, athletically, and socially. When others are jealous, don’t isolate yourself . . . embrace them. If you are approachable, you can help others elevate their game. The message we want you to comprehend . . . being a real baller does not mean you set out to be the man. It means because you are dynamic, you make certain everyone around you is better too.
Here is a huge thanks to all those that help us work hard.
To Ms. Stephanie’s parents, Dr. Franklin and Shirley Perry Sr., because you are always there, your love allows us to never hate on people with parents who care.
To our publisher, especially Arianne McHugh, because of your commitment to our vision, we don’t need to hate on other authors.
To our extended family: brothers, Dennis Perry and Victor Moore, sister, Sherry Moore, godparents, Walter and Marjorie Kimbrough, young nephews, Franklin Perry III, Kadarius Moore, and godsons, Danton Lynn, Dakari Jones, and Dorian Lee, because of your support we have never hated on others with wonderful families since we had our own.
To our assistant Joy Spencer, because you stepped up, we did not have to hate that we would get our project turned in late since you had us on time.
To our friends who mean so much: Jim and Deen Sanders, Antonio and Gloria London, Chett and Lakeba Williams, Bobby and Sarah Lundy, Harry and Torian Colon, Byron and Kim Forest, Donald and Deborah Bradley, because of your endearing friendship, we have no hating going on for people who have close folks in their lives.
To our teens: Dustyn, Sydni, and Sheldyn, because you give us purpose and keep us full, we never hate for a minute we are your parents.
To the media specialists, school administrators, teachers, and educational companies across the country who support us, especially, Veronica Evans from Delaney Educational, because you believed in our work, we were able to connect with Saddleback Educational Publishing on this series and not hate we did not give our all to help readers.
To our new readers, whom we trust will work hard and become successful readers, because you won’t give up and won’t hate you missed out on being all you want to be.
And to our Savior, whom has allowed us to reap the benefits of our hard work, because You have opened windows for us, we do not hate some doors You have closed for our good.
CHAPTER 1
True Outsider
Amir, where the heck do you think you’re going?” my father said angrily. I was just grabbing my keys and heading to work. Dang!
I was a month away from seventeen years old. I loved my pops, for real, but I was sick of him riding me like I was a donkey. I was not an ass. I did what I had to do. I took care of my responsibilities. I had a little side job so I would not have to get spending money from him. Why did he care where I was going? He was a surgeon. He was always gone.
Being a little truthful and a lot sarcastic I said, “What is it now: my room, the dishes, the trash? Done, done, and done. I’m going to work, Dad, that’s all.”
“Anna, you better do something with this boy because he’s getting way too mouthy and trying me way too much.”
“Amir, respect your father, honey,” my mom said. She never defended me.
I did not hate him, but I wondered what was up his butt because he treated me like dirt. I liked athletics more than academics, and I figured that was his problem. I did not look like him. I did not act like him. I certainly did not think like him. Picture a nerdy black man with glasses, dressed in khakis, a white shirt, and loafers. That was him. I had muscles and swag.
It might have taken me longer than what came to him naturally when it came to the books, but I buckled down and had a 3.75 GPA. So what was his problem? Why was he always riding me? Why did he push me all the time? He wanted my respect, but he had not respected me for most of my life.
Kids I hung around always said they envied what I had—a dad who was a doctor, a dad who was involved in my life, and a dad who lived in my same home. That was just it. The structure I lived in had not much to it. There was some Sheetrock with some bricks on the outside. However, there certainly was not much love shared on the inside.
As for dreams and goals and stuff that I was supposed to aspire to, I had not really given it much thought. Yeah, I was a junior in high school, and I was almost out of my parents’ door. But when I was in middle school, my dad laughed at everything I wanted to be and told me to choose something else. I got tired of trying to come up with something that interested me and that my father didn’t think was pointless. He said everything I was looking into did not have an opportunity to bring in six figures. I was a rapper in my elementary school talent show and won. Last time I looked, Jay-Z, Diddy, Kanye West, and other players in the game were holding down big loot. My dad said over his dead body would I get out on stage and make money as a stupid entertainer. Then in the seventh grade, when I got all the awards in football, I wanted to be a professional baller, but of course my father protested. He felt that men banging their heads around was beneath his son’s dignity. Then I started looking at more practical jobs, like being a dentist or a veterinarian, but he still thought that paled in comparison to being a surgeon.
I’ve never been able to measure up. Somewhere between the eighth and ninth grade, I stopped putting myself on his scale. Our relationship was so strained: like a wet paper towel holding a bunch of raw potatoes. Any moment it was going to bust.
“What’s going on with you, Amir? You giving me attitude? You’re a big boy, but you are not grown. Do I need to remind you of that?” my dad got in my face and asked.
I picked up my left hand to look at my watch, but my dad swatted my hand down real hard. Instinctively, I flexed my muscles and came at him. I was almost six foot one, and he was barely five foot nine. He was the parent, but his body made him look like a kid.
“Honey, just let the boy go on. You’re on call tonight, and you might have to go back to the hospital. No stress,” my mom said, giving my dad wise advise. “Amir, get on out of here.”
“Working at a gym,” my d
ad snorted. “I can get him a job as an orderly at the hospital. At least he’d be around the environment he needs in order to learn something. He needs all the extra help that he can get with his intellect,” my dad said, throwing the only jab he could.
I threw my hands up at that moment, walked out the door, and slammed it shut. I did not care if he came out and told me to never come back. It did not matter because for some reason it felt like I did not belong there anyway. What was the good in having a dad who every day made you feel like you were inadequate compared to him? I knew fathers were supposed to have high expectations, but weren’t they supposed to love you unconditionally? Goodness gracious, if I would have been born with cerebral palsy or Down syndrome, he would not have been able to take it even though he was a doctor.
When I got to the gym, I was fifteen minutes late. I went to my locker to put up my stuff. I knew I had a class that had already begun, but it was what it was, and I was here now.
“No need to change,” said Mr. Wan. He was the small but super strong owner of Cheertowne, the gym where I worked.
“I’m ready, sir. I was just gonna put away my things. I don’t have to change, and I’m sorry for being late,” I added. Mr. Wan still looked annoyed.
“Sorry is not gonna cut it this time, young man. Head out the door, I don’t need you,” Mr. Wan said.
Mr. Wan was Asian, and I did not know if he was no nonsense because of his culture, or if he felt the pressure of running a business in a down economy. For years Cheertowne had been known as the gym that trained the best competition squads in the metro Atlanta area, but due to the recession, people could not afford to pay three grand a year for their child to cheer. Many still wanted to come for lessons so when they were finally able to cheer for their school, they would also be able to tumble.
I could get that Mr. Wan had to be tough, but I was not the kind of guy to plead for anything. I was not so cool that I thought I was all that. However, I was not weak either.
“Can I talk to you, sir?” I said in a truly respectful way.
“In my office . . . in my office now,” he huffed.
Seeing his impatience, I got to the point quickly. “I apologize for being late.”
“You have a cell, but you no call. Young people call and text for everything else. You late for work, and you no call,” Mr. Wan vented.
Coming clean I said, “Sir, it was my dad.”
“Always your dad. Always him not wanting you to be here. He came to my gym angry a couple of times. Maybe you not work here, and Dad won’t blow up. I can’t let your problem be my problem, Amir. Son, you are growing up, and you must understand you have to handle business.”
“You’re right, sir,” I said to him, owning up to my mistakes.
I knew my dad tripped sometimes. I knew he was home today. I should’ve planned extra time for him to give me strife.
“But look out your window,” I said. We looked through the glass onto the gym floor. “Look at all those little kids. They aren’t learning a thing because their favorite coach isn’t out there with them. They look bored. They look like they might quit and take their money with them. You need to keep me here. Let me coach. Let me teach. Let me stay.”
I guess when he saw what I was talking about he said, “One more time.”
I reached out my hand to give him dap, but he didn’t know what to do with that.
I couldn’t really explain why I liked tumbling. My mom put me in gymnastics after watching the Olympics one year. She felt like I could get a gold medal. My dad approved of the Olympics because it was an elite-type pursuit. I went to the gym, and the tumbling stuff came naturally. To this day, I find it a thrill to help others do spirals and aerials.
Before I could get out there, Lexus, this girl who I used to really kick it with and who worked at the gym, came up to me. “Where have you been?” she whined.
I looked at her like she was insane. What business was it of hers? She was acting way too over the top. It was like she had no life other than me. She’d call me every five minutes, and then she even got a job at the gym to be closer to me. This girl needed to move on.
It started when I met up with her at the movies a few months back. Our hormones started rising, and we made each other feel good. I told her I did not want anything serious, and at first she said she could handle it. But she couldn’t. She always wanted more attention from me. I tried breaking up with her three times before school started, but she just wasn’t leaving me alone. I wanted to be the one to do the chasing, and I definitely didn’t need a girl who wouldn’t cut a brother a break.
Thankfully, another co-worker, Carlen, who also went to my high school, saw that I was hemmed up. I gave him a signal. He picked up on it and called me over to my class.
When I walked away, Lexus said, “So it’s like that? You just gonna use me up and throw me out with the trash?”
I kept walking. There was no need for me to respond. I definitely did not want her to feel like garbage, but we had no connection. The crazy chick then ran up to me and slapped me hard.
“I’m sorry. I’m sorry. I’m sorry,” she cried when I looked at her is a disappointed way.
“These kids in the gym did not see what you did. You better hope Mr. Wan didn’t either, or you might lose your job. I was never trying to hurt you, and I never led you on.”
She ran out of the gym, and I ran over to the kids. I hoped we stayed in opposite corners because things could only get worse between us.
“Man, these cats ain’t gonna go to state,” Carlen muttered. We were in the stands waiting for the opening kickoff of the Lockwood Lions. Lexus had tagged along.
“Yeah, ’cause you aren’t on the team, right?” I teased and jabbed him lightly on the arm.
“You should be out there,” he said, trying to hit me below the belt since he knew I had skills from our days in the little league football.
Carlen got me. I had no words to defend why I was not out there. I was frustrated just being a spectator because I knew I had more athletic ability than most of the boys out on the field. I actually got a little salty with him. I was angry he called me out. Even with a crowded stadium full of packed fans, I wanted to stay to myself.
What was really going on? What was keeping me from going after what I really wanted? Did I really want to play ball?
I noticed Lexus sliding closer and closer to me. I did not want to come to the game with her, but Carlen asked if I’d ride with him, and I said yes, not knowing he told Lexus she could go too. Next thing I knew, her hand was on my thigh. Without thinking, I jumped up like the rest of the crowd and cheered as the Lions entered the field. There was a big man in front of Carlen. He was blocking Carlen’s view. I knew if I sat behind him, I would not be able to see the whole field. However, I was a little taller than Carlen, and I’d rather have a bad view than be seated next to crazy Lexus.
“Hey, man,” I said, “Wanna switch places? Nobody’s in front of me, and you’d have a better view.”
“Yeah, man, that’d be great,” Carlen said. He quickly switched places.
Lexus huffed. Carlen had binoculars and put them around his neck as he clapped and screamed uncontrollably like he was the Lions number-one fan. I was relieved to have distance between me and the psycho chick, although Carlen’s big personality tended to attract a lot of unwanted attention as well.
After Lexus and her pushy ways, I thought the last thing I wanted to be thinking about would be females. But then I saw the cheerleaders out on the field; one girl in particular made me do a double take. I was mesmerized by her glowing chocolate skin, her whipped short haircut, her perfectly proportioned body, and her infectious smile. I yanked Carlen’s binoculars away from him. When I looked closer, she was perfect. No fake long hair trying to keep up with the Kardashians. She wasn’t all hoochie. Her boobs weren’t going to knock you over, but they pulled you in. The girl was beautiful.
When the cheerleaders went over to the sidelines, she was the loud
est one. Trying to hype up the crowd, she just made you want to get in the game. I found myself staring.
“Dang, man, did you see that first play?” Carlen shouted, killing my eardrum.
“What happened?” I said, turning my head from the sidelines to the field.
“What you doing, man? Looking at the cheerleaders or something?” he said as he popped the back of my head and took back his binoculars. “All that shiny gold on those girls,” Carlen sniffed. “I would have done something more understated,” he said, being the fashionable guy that he was.
Lexus sneered, “I know he’s not looking at the cheerleaders. They’re nothing to look at.”
I wanted to remind her that she tried out and didn’t make it, but I didn’t go there. She was dead wrong anyway. All the girls shaking their pom-poms were the cutest our school had to offer. Of course I had to carry my man card even though Carlen did not, so I played it off like I was into the game.
Turning to Carlen I said, “No, I wasn’t looking at the cheerleaders. I just missed the play.”
“It’s the secondary man, we just got a pick. Dang, they need some help out there. You should go out for the team, Amir. I know you used to play cornerback. Plus, you’d look fine in that uniform.”
“Amir used to play football?” Lexus laughed.
As if he was my agent, Carlen replied boldly, “Yeah, he was amazing. This seventh grader just tearing up the field. He was doing his thing.” He looked at me. “I don’t think you played your eighth-grade year. Did you get hurt or something?”
I just shook my head not wanting to give him a response. The only thing hurt were my feelings when my dad told me I could not suit up again. Thankfully, Carlen’s attention went back to the game when the crowd screamed. The more I watched, the more I felt I in the wrong place in the stadium.
When halftime came, the cheerleaders were introduced. Carlen hit me on the leg and said, “Man, you know I don’t swing that way, but a few of these girls look good enough to gobble up.” I knew they were fine. We both smiled.