Free Character Driven by Derek Fisher, Gary Brozek Page B

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    As I’ve said, my dad was a great believer in doing, and he seemed to think that when we kids weren’t actively engaged in something, we should have been. That didn’t just mean sports. I came of age when computers were just starting to be in schools. Learning how to use them meant learning how to type. My mom and dad took education seriously. They knew that to get anywhere in life, we were going to have to do well in school. As much as they supported me in my various sports activities, they made sure that I developed my off hand by involving me in lots of other activities—at school as well as outside of it.
    I learned early on that I was supposed to be busy and productive—not just mindlessly or foolishly engaged in some activity, but doing something that could eventually benefit me. I had plenty of time to mess around and play, but an equal amount of time at home was devoted to developing my skills off the court. My parents understood that school meant using a computer, so they got one for the house. The school had these nice Apple II computers and monitors, but they were pretty pricey, so we ended up with some generic desktop PC clone. We were just glad to have it. The novelty of having a computer wore off quickly, especially when my dad got involved. To help us with our typing skills, we had software called Mavis Beacon Teaches Typing.
    I remember that the box the disks came in featured a photograph of a nice-looking black woman—I assumed it was Mavis Beacon—and she was all smiles. Working on a computer at school was fun, and learning to type wasn’t so bad. Being left-handed, I wanted to use my left thumb to hit the space bar, and the teacher at school kept admonishing me to use my right thumb. I didn’t see why it mattered, but I worked at it as hard as I could. After school, my dad would make sure that in addition to doing all my homework, I also spent time working on my Mavis Beacon lessons. After a while, that smile on her face seemed to transform in my mind to an evil, sadistic grin as she watched me working away. I wanted to be outside with my friends, not pecking away at the keyboard. I wanted to be the quick brown fox out jumping around and not the lazy dog tied to his computer.
    In time, I suspected that my father had his doubts about my ability to fully commit to things. I don’t think he thought that I was lazy, but I was fairly reserved, not prone to showing the enthusiasm I felt for things. I loved basketball, but I wasn’t going to jump around and act fired up about it all the time. I quietly went about my business without drawing much attention to myself. I figured that if I produced on the court and did the things my coaches asked of me, I should be rewarded with their praise and their attention. I didn’t need to go out of my way to get it by either acting out negatively or being too much of a rah-rah, over-the-top kind of guy. Eventually, I was going to have to learn to develop that side of my personality and become more outgoing, but that would take a lot of years.
    I got good grades, was mostly well-behaved, but definitely was not one of those butt-out-of-my-seat, hand-waving-in-the-air, please-call-on-me, please-call-on-me kind of kids. Being asked to read out loud didn’t paralyze me with fear, but I wasn’t going to be one of the first to volunteer. The same with going up to the board to solve a math problem. I figured that getting it right on my own was enough. No need to go up there and show everybody else what I had done. I think that part of my reluctance to call attention to myself reflected my parents’ instilling in us kids respect for adults and others. They weren’t overly into the idea that children should be seen and not heard, but we definitely knew our place.
    Churchgoing also shaped me. I was not about to act out there. Church was not a place where you went to mess around with your friends. I’d occasionally take a look around the congregation and spot