A Father First: How My Life Became Bigger Than Basketball by Dwyane Wade

supposed to come. I’d imagine how he would go upstairs to Grandma’s with us and tell jokes or take us somewhere else. I hadn’t forgotten what it felt like when he didn’t show. Not seeing him and not having him around sucked, and his not coming left me feeling unwanted, unloved, angry.
    True, as a kid we didn’t have a phone so we couldn’t get the explanation that something had come up. By the same token, explaining custody arrangements to children doesn’t take away the pain they feel when separated from either parent.
    All I could do and all I had tried to do from the start was develop those open lines of communication with my sons so they could be free to tell me what they were feeling. I didn’t want to be Father Knows Best. In fact, I would tell them that just because I was Daddy and earned the money and paid the bills and made the rules so they could get what they needed and wanted, we could talk about their concerns no matter what. We spoke often about how each of them was different and that I didn’t expect them to be alike or just like me. That didn’t mean that I was going to have all the answers. But I could still listen and then hopefully together we’d come up with a solution.
    “Help me help you” is in my thoughts as I go downstairs to the kitchen to hear from Rich that sure enough, Zaire is having one of his episodes, complete with a temper tantrum.
    Out in the backyard, Dada and Zion are on the basketball court, happily engrossed in some kind of game they’re playing together. In contrast, Zaire’s sitting off on his own, a basketball cradled in his arms, looking sad and lost.
    The image takes me back just for a minute to a series of other backyards where I played when I was growing up, sometimes feeling not too different from Zaire on this day.

    I COULDN’T COUNT HOW MANY TIMES I REPLAYED THAT afternoon when Tragil and I were supposed to go to the movies on the bus and instead she dropped me off at our dad’s girlfriend’s place for good.
    Eventually, when we did talk about it, my sister recalled that she really did intend to go to the movies and then maybe afterward stop by the apartment where Dad’s girlfriend, Bessie McDaniels, lived. Her plan evolved differently when the bus came to a stop right there in that neighborhood and we spotted Donny playing in the back lot of the apartment building. The fact that I was so happy to get out and play with the boys made my sister’s efforts easier. Since we didn’t have a phone for Tragil to call ahead and clear the possibility with Bessie or Dad, she was playing this whole thing by ear.
    Unbeknownst to me until much later, when I was in the alley in the middle of a game with the boys, thirteen-year-old Tragil had gone up to the third-floor apartment and said something to Bessie’s mom about me staying. That night, after Tragil left, telling me she’d be back the next day, I went upstairs with Demetrius and Donny and there was no acknowledgment either way about me being there. Like me, everyone else must have assumed this was no different from the other times when Dad had brought us over and we’d stayed.
    Those first several nights were a free-for-all! Whatever bedrooms there were in the apartment were occupied and besides the three boys from Bessie’s previous relationships, the household included their grandmother, Grandmom Chris (whose place it was), a couple of uncles, and some additional kids and adults. There didn’t seem to be any rules, or bedtimes, or anything.
    As best I can remember, Dad was already upstairs when Demetrius, Donny, and I came in hungry around suppertime. Flashing me the familiar Dwyane Wade Sr. grin, he lifted his hand up in the air for a high-five as I jumped up and tried unsuccessfully to slap it back. In my mind, my father was a giant who towered above me and I was never going to be able to jump that high.
    “How you doin’, son?” was all my father said to me. Maybe I nodded or mumbled that I was