On a lighter note, I tried playing basketball for the first time in a long time tonight to test out my back. Some guy was being an obnoxious shit. We were all shooting around and sharing the balls so I got the one he was waiting for, then hit 8 three-pointers in a row so he had to keep giving me change. I hate guys who disrespect just because I’m a girl. In the one pick up game, I was 1-2, scoring on a crossover spin move under the basket around this big black guy who tried to go up for the block. I’m pretty rusty but that was sweet. I’m going to pay for it tomorrow though, because my back is screaming right now.
I’m out. Here’s the poem from the movie (reminiscent of Langston Hughes, one of my favorites). It really hits the pulse of every adult who still holds an immense amount of buried pain from childhood inside of him or her. Amazing when he recites it in the film:
Who will cry for the little boy, lost and all alone?
Who will cry for the little boy, abandoned without his own?
Who will cry for the little boy? He cried himself to sleep.
Who will cry for the little boy? He never had for keeps.
Who will cry for the little boy? He walked the burning sand.
Who will cry for the little boy? The boy inside the man.
Who will cry for the little boy? Who knows well hurt and pain.
Who will cry for the little boy? He died and died again.
Who will cry for the little boy? A good boy he tried to be.
Who will cry for the little boy, who cries inside of me?