Chapter 13: Settling In and Getting Involved

I saw a notice in the sports page of the paper about a wheelchair basketball tournament. It reminded me of how much I enjoyed watching Bernie's team compete in their tournaments. I made a note of the time and location of the tournament. I wanted to attend and see if I still had an interest in the sport.

"Deb, there's a wheelchair basketball tournament on this weekend. I'd like to attend. Maybe I can be of some help ... if they need any."

"Okay," she said with a smile. "I remember you mentioning how much you enjoyed watching them play when you were in Guelph. I'd like to see what you were talking about. Where is it being played?"

"In Burnaby at the rec center near Deer Lake," I said. "That's not too far from here."

"Great, let's plan on it then," she replied quickly.

"Were you able to track down Terry Palmer?" I asked.

"Yes. He's working at a wholesale gardening outlet. He's in charge of herbicides, pesticides and fertilizers. I don't think he's too thrilled with it. When I mentioned Baker-Traxall, he sounded very interested. I told him who to contact and I'm sure he'll follow it up. Did you know he was still seeing Robin?"

"No. I haven't heard anything about our fellow graduates as a matter of fact," I admitted. "I guess I should try and keep in touch with the ones we knew best."

"I've ordered a list of our fellow graduates from the Alumni Association and that will help us locate them if we want to."

"Good thinking, Deb. We should keep track of them. We made some good friends during that four years. I'd hate to lose contact with them."

We attended a Saturday afternoon game at the rec center, sitting a few rows up in the stands. It was sparsely attended, and I was guessing most of the audience were parents or relatives.

"You were right, Ian. This is fascinating and fun. I was marvelling at the upper body strength of some of these kids. They are very protective of each other, regardless of which team they are on."

"Yeah, it's competitive as hell, but when someone goes over, it's just as likely a guy from the other team will help them up as anyone. That's the part I really like about this sport. They're protective of the girls, too. They aren't anywhere near as aggressive with them, but they don't give them any free shots either."

"I wonder if this is the only fun they have?" Deb asked. "Some of those kids don't have much to look forward to in life. I really feel sorry for them."

"Don't, Deb. They have a very different outlook on life. Their teenage years are the most difficult for them, and if they can get through them without too many emotional scars, then they'll probably be okay."

"How do you know this?" she looked at me questioningly.

"Talking to the coaches and parents. I've met some of the handicapped adults who are involved. They're married, have children in some cases, and live a pretty good life all things considered. Most of them are very keen on keeping fit. You know who Rick Hansen is. He's pretty much the role model for a lot of these people. If he can have a beautiful wife and kids, then they have a chance too."

I could see Deb nodding, thinking over what I'd said. She turned to me then. "This is something important to you, isn't it?"

"I think so, but I don't really know why. I admire these kids. I want them to have fun and enjoy what they can do. Their life isn't going to be perfect like ours will be. There's nothing they can do about that except make the best of their situation. That takes bravery and a good attitude. When I got to know some of them, well ... you have to wish them the best."

Deb squeezed my arm and looked at me with a loving smile. I think she saw something then that she hadn't expected, but liked.

We went down on the gym floor when the game ended and I introduced myself to one of the coaches.

"Hi, I'm Ian Kiernan and my girlfriend is Deborah Cummings. I was wondering if you needed any help or volunteers for your team?"

"I'm Marshall Riley," he said, shaking my extended hand. "We can always use some help. What experience do you have?"

"Not much. I got involved with a team through a friend in Guelph, Ontario. I kind of got hooked on the kids and the game that way."

"Uh huh, that can happen," he grinned. "Do you have a handicapped child or relative?"

"No. I just admire the enthusiasm and fun these kids have when they play. I've played a little intramural basketball so I have some idea of the rules, and watching the teams play I have some clue about the strategy for the sport."

"Well, that's a good start. Are you available in the evenings and on weekends?" he asked.

"Yes. I have a regular day job, as does Deb. My evenings and weekends are pretty much free."

"Great," Marshall smiled. "Why don't we sit down and talk about what's involved and you can see if it fits what you're able to do."

We spent the next half-hour going over the schedule. He handed me a copy to keep. I noticed that Deb was paying close attention.

"I noticed you have girls on the team as well. Could you use some help with them?" she asked.

"Of course. Did you get involved in Guelph as well?" he asked.

"No ... I hadn't even seen a game before this afternoon. But Ian told me how much he enjoyed watching these kids and how good he felt about helping. I can understand that now, having seen it today.

"Well, that's great. I'll want to spend some time with you, Ian, and Caroline Drzinski will help Deborah get accustomed to the routine. Neither of you will be coaches. That requires courses and qualifications. So you will both be assistants. It's not glamorous work, but it helps us a lot."

"That sounds just fine, Marshall. You okay with that, Deb?" I asked.

"Yes. I wasn't expecting to get involved at all, but if I can be of some help, then I'm happy."

"Great," Marshall said with a big smile. "We'll see you here Tuesday night at seven o'clock. Practices last an hour. When you get here, I'll show you where the basketballs are kept and the spare parts for the wheelchairs. Every once in a while, one of them needs a repair. Thanks for volunteering to help. We really appreciate it."

"Looks like we're committed to being a part of this," I said as we walked out to the parking lot.

"I'm okay with that, Ian. I can see what makes it so interesting, and if we can help, that's our good deed for the day," she smiled.

"I wonder why the parents don't volunteer?" Ian asked aloud. "I thought that would be automatic."

"There's probably a reason," Deb shrugged. "I'm sure Marshall will know."

"Oh, they do volunteer," Marshall said at the next practice, "but I'm very reluctant to take them on. I call it the Little League Syndrome. They get very wrapped up in how their son or daughter is doing and whether the coach is using them properly or playing them enough. I have a handicapped son and he plays for another team. I didn't want the temptation or the hassle of hearing it from parents that my boy is getting favoured treatment. He knows why I did it and he agrees. I made sure I sent him to a good teaching coach. He's doing fine."

"So, since we are unrelated to any of the kids, we're a little better bet," I chuckled.

"A much better bet. And you're younger. The kids can relate to you better. Both of you are good cheerleaders, encouraging them and making sure they know you're watching them. That's the best medicine for them. We're lucky, too. We don't have any interfering parents. Most of them feel like you do. It's great exercise and they are having fun. That's the bottom line."

"It's fun for us, too," Deb said with a smile. "I've never done this before, but I really enjoy being here with them. Makes any problems I've got seem pretty insignificant."

Marshall nodded and turned back to the practice. It had deteriorated into a free-for-all among the kids, passing the ball around in a high speed game of keep-away. He blew his whistle to get the formal practice under way. Deb and I scrambled to collect all the balls together while Marshall talked about the drill he wanted to run.

"I'm impressed with Marshall, Deb. He's really even-tempered and good with the kids. Even the ones who can't play very much or move very quickly are encouraged."

"Yes," she agreed. "He said they have a lower level team for the kids that can't make this team and that gets them playing time. But they all practice together. He doesn't want the less able kids to feel left out."

"He's just the right guy for this job," I nodded.

"Your mother called and left a message, Ian. We're invited to Thanksgiving dinner at their place next Saturday. If it's okay, I'll call her back and let her know we'll be there and see if there's anything we can bring."

"Great. Mom always puts on a great feed, even if I can tell you what the menu is going to be already," I grinned.

"Okay, tell me," Deb challenged.

"Roast beef, Yorkshire pudding, roast potatoes, onions and parsnips, carrots and peas. Hand peeled local shrimp for appetizer and probably lemon meringue pie for dessert. Aren't you impressed?" I chuckled.

"Only if you're right," she shot back. "I better call her and let her know we'll be there."

"You were on the phone a long time," I said when she finally returned to the living room.

"Well, I had a lot to talk about. First of all, your mother has invited my mother and John Holland to be there. Turns out, John belongs to the same golf club your folks do and they know each other. Secondly, Brother Kenny has asked permission to bring a girlfriend to dinner. How about that?" she said with emphasis.

"Huh. Well, two unexpected events. Your mom and John, and Kenny's mystery girlfriend. That's a full table of eight. Should be a very interesting evening," I suggested.

"No doubt," Deb agreed.

"I'm anxious to meet Mom's boyfriend," Deb said as we arrived at my family home. "I was glad to hear your mom and dad knew him and said he was a good guy."

"Yeah, that is good news," I agreed. "That must be his car parked on the street. Not bad. A Porsche 911. Looks like he's financially well off."