Opinion: Seeing youth through older eyes

Larry McCoy lives in Rockville Centre.

I recently celebrated my 73rd birthday, and one of my presents was a new basketball, something I had asked for. As I sat on the bed unwrapping gifts, I thought about a young man I had read about the night before. He was someone I knew from the basketball courts in Rockville Centre. I wondered what kind of dreams he had during the night.

About three summers ago this teenager and I frequently played against each other. He was taller and, obviously, quicker, but I didn't mind guarding him because he didn't have much of a shot unless he was right under the basket. I never knew his real name, but the other kids on the court had an affectionate nickname for him, "Pig.''

The following summer he was back on the court, and this time I didn't want to guard him. He had developed a very good outside shot, and there was no way I could handle him. I playfully shoved him one day and asked, "When did you get a shot? You couldn't make anything last year." He had practiced a lot during the winter, he said.

After not seeing him for a long time, I encountered him last summer, working at a restaurant. I asked where he'd been. He didn't play ball these days, he said. Too busy. I told him that was nonsense, that he ought to get back out there. A week or so later I was driving to the court and here came Pig. I waved, he waved.

I yelled, "Going to work?"

"Yep," he said.

The night before my birthday I saw a story online about a mugging, and, having been mugged once myself, I clicked on it. The young man was one of two young guys arrested and charged with assaulting a man and stealing $40. I looked at his picture three or four times to make sure.

That night, I had a familiar dream. I was back at my old job working in a radio newsroom. I hadn't written nearly enough copy for a newscast just minutes away. But my incompetence didn't seem to matter because this was to be my last day on the job, and there would be cake at the end of my shift. I woke up before the newscast either went on the air - or didn't - and before I had any cake.

Although old men don't sleep as peacefully as young men, they still have dreams, both in bed and out. Despite my age and no apparent musical talent, I keep thinking someday I will write a good country and western song. If Pig makes it to 73, what will his dreams be?

What were his daytime dreams before the alleged assault? What did he hope to be doing by the time he was 30? He's 19 now, a dangerous age. As someone who was a little out of control before basketball became my mindless passion, I hope Pig finds a satisfying diversion before it's too late. I'd like to see him at the park again someday where he can take out his frustrations on me. Although I'm slower than ever, I have a new ball.