My time as a single mom started at the beginning of 2016.  I never expected at that time to share it with LeBron James, but that’s the story I have to share.  I had two elementary age kids and a three year old.  My life leading up to that moment had so much stress, so much loss, so much chaos and I longed to simplify my home, my family and the sense of security and safety among my kids and I.  As a busy working mom, I cherished the moments with my older kids, as rare as they were, that involved reading.  So, somehow, I decided to teach my youngest to read with no personal education background or any idea what I was doing.  I’m not sure why I felt called to share that experience with him, but I am so glad I was.

Let me back up and add some context to those evenings curled up in his room, snuggled up together in his LeBron James bedding.  My youngest son lived in the shadow of his older brother.  His older brother’s primary passion was basketball and around this time period, he had just discovered the NBA.  I recall a night in my living room with all three of my kids watching my first NBA playoffs in those months and telling a neighbor Dad that I had never even heard of a team called the Warriors.  My how my life has changed.

If you spent early 2016 somewhere other than in your living room trying to guide three little kids, led by the oldest dribbling a ball, leaping from coach to coach, and “juking” his brother and sister, I will remind you that year brought us a championship series between the Golden State Warriors and Steph Curry, along with Kevin Durant and, of course, the Cleveland Cavaliers led by a man you may have heard of – LeBron James.  I was not familiar with these men beyond endorsements and commercials prior to that all encompassing Spring wherein they became the unexpected pillars of love, laughter and joy in my house as I embarked on my new life as a single mother to three active, animated young children looking to me for everything – from food, to structure, to entertainment.  Never in my wildest dreams would I have thought it would be found among over-priced jerseys, deep rivalries between young men we did not know, constant highlight videos and twitter commentary.

Unless you live under a rock, you have some general sense that a cornerstone of constant internet and sports commentary is centered on LeBron James’s place in history.  If you venture over to Instagram and read the comments to anything the man has posted in the last fifteen years, you’ll be sufficiently caught up.  For my youngest, instead of watching Spiderman or Superman as a pre-preschooler, he was watching this group of super-athletes dunk, flop, block and steal.  They were his superheroes, his fantasies, his idols.  And they all lived up to the task.  Each and every one of them.  Their athletic feats, shout outs in rap music lyrics and the brightly colored pricey shoes were far more enthralling to him than the heroes his peers were celebrating.  And as brothers do as brothers do, my boys pitted against one other.  The youngest grew to be solidly team LeBron, the other – shall we say – not team LeBron.  The crying memes.  The constant comparison to Michael Jordan.  The team changes.  His hair and beard.  The number of championship rings.  Did I mention the crying meme?  (go ahead and google it).  And oh my, the flops.  If you would like to know more about the details of popular anti-LeBron sentiment however, this post is not where you will find it.

My young boy faced immense pressure to defend his idol from naysayers – and not just in the constant dinner conversations, car rides and family time with his brother –  it came from everywhere.  I mean everywhere.  We were at our local Walgreens one afternoon during basketball season with him in a LeBron jersey and the man checking us out launched into a diatribe about the current NBA and how much better it was when Michael Jordan played.  He droned on and on about how LeBron was overhyped and would never have made it in the glory days of the 90’s (perhaps his glory days?).  This passionate, bizarre lecture was directed to a boy who was not yet in kindergarten to tear down the man he worshiped.  I was speechless.

It happened everywhere.  If my little boy had on LeBron apparel, the random strangers, parents of his friends, and people we would pass by felt called, compelled, drawn to scold my baby and say things like, “nice jersey, but do you know anything about Michael Jordan?”  And then he’d come home and sit at the dinner table and take that onslaught from his older brother.  Someone had to figure out how to defend my baby’s idol.  And that someone had to be me.

So there I went.  I was overworked, exhausted, had too many irons in the fire, but by god, I was going to learn to talk back to the clerk at Walgreens, the strangers’ rants and most of all, to my extremely loud, opinionated oldest son.

It’s a debate that has not resolved among actual real-life sports experts, so far be it to a middle aged, white, midwestern mom to solve – but we learned to stand our ground,  my little guy and I.  And I hope in that, my youngest son learned both that he had a supporter in me and not to be pushed around.  And for that, I suppose I have LeBron James to thank.

After a few dramatic move outs, therapists, and family confusion, it was in the fall of 2017 it became clear my marriage was over.  My oldest boy was then in sixth grade.  I was heartsick and anxious about telling him.  I took him to IHOP, his favorite restaurant at the time (my god boy yes, tonight, you can have chocolate milk refills with your chocolate chip pancakes).  I told him, his eyes welled up and he panicked for a few seconds, but then, my boy, my son, my oldest, took it like a man.  His concern moved to me.  To his siblings.  He was angry, he was hurt.  It was so much.  We sat at that table forever.  We talked about what our futures looked like, what would change and what wouldn’t.  And then, as things went with my sweet kids, particularly my boys, the way to bring a conversation down, the way to bond, the way to feel safe and good, was to go back to what we shared – and that was those same men.  A week prior, a Dad we knew well had told us a story about seeing Michael Jordan play years before – back in the glory days of the 90’s – he may as well have told my kids he flew to the moon.  We talked about this man’s experience as we finished the last syrupy bites of our chocolate gooey pancakes and my boy said that right now, at that time, in the fall of 2017, nothing would be greater than seeing a game between Steph Curry and LeBron.  It would be the kind of story one would tell their whole lives.  It would be the biggest experience he could dream of and he connected it the story of our friend talking about seeing Michael Jordan play so many years ago.  So you know what I did don’t you?  To take that moment of heartache for this boy I loved so much and try to patch it, fix it, find hope in it?  I took the little bit of money I got through my divorce and instead of doing something responsible or reasonable with it, in January 2018 and I flew my three little kids and myself to Cleveland and we saw Steph Curry play LeBron James.  And it was epic.  The tickets were terrible, but I had done so much research and made so many calls that I figured out how to get us to the floor before the game and my oldest got Steph Curry’s autograph and had an actual conversation with both he and Kevin Durant and my younger two ended up in the Cavalier’s pre-game tunnel – meaning – my youngest son high-fived LeBron James with his doting sister.  It was glorious.  At this moment I honest to God cannot remember who won.  It will always be one of the best things I’ve ever done.  Magical.  Loud.  Intense and joyful.  When I sat down in my high rafter seat after delivering that experience to my kids, and took the first few drinks of my giant, expensive Miller Lite in Cleveland, Ohio, dressed in half Cavs gear/half Warriors gear, alone with three kids hundreds of miles away from home while it snowed outside, I knew I was going to be okay.  It was truly one of the most emotional moments of my life as I tasted those first few sips of that beer and a great, content calm washed over me.  And for that, I suppose I have LeBron James to thank.

Here’s a LeBron story, one of many, if you don’t have the privilege of knowing just about every darn thing about this adult man:  When he was a young boy, he got a plastic mini basketball hoop as a Christmas gift.  I once saw a social media post that showed the picture of little tiny LeBron and the goal that Christmas morning with the caption, “the world’s greatest investment,” because that basketball goal may have led to a billion dollar career.  Who knows when I came by that story, but of course, LeBron James and his marketing machine have created the goal in that darling little picture to be available for kids.  And of course my youngest got that LeBron goal for Christmas when he turned four.  I think I can honestly say my sons have used that goal every day since.  So the investment joke on social media is a heck of a joke in many ways– how this toy has stood the test of time with my sons, one of whom is now 6 foot 2, I have no idea.  It’s beat up, but believe me, it works.  If your child has been to my house over the last decade, ask them about it.  I’ve tried putting it in the boys’ bedrooms, I’ve moved it to attics, basements, or even outside but it always ends up right back in my living room.  I should stop them I suppose.  I should make them stop jumping all over my house throwing balls and playing on that goal.  They have broken so many things (a wine glass last Sunday with red wine splattering on the cushion of my dining room chair).  But gosh, you should see them.  At first, it was a four-year old and a ten-year old.  Now it’s a ten-year old and a sixteen-year old.  I notice my oldest coming upstairs to play on that goal with his younger brother as a break from studying, as a distraction from stress in his life – be it school, girls, sports, or friends.  Is a broken wine glass worth breaking that between them?  I have clearly decided not, despite my occasional short-lived temper tantrums.

Last week when I pulled my Christmas tree out of the living room and re-arranged the furniture – for the first time ever – I arranged my living room around that goal as a convenience to my two boys.  Instead of trying to hide or move the goal, it’s right there with its own clear space and path.  My oldest is a high school junior.  He will live in this house for about eighteen more months.  If something about that old beat up plastic goal binds him to his brother and keeps them playing together, they finally win.  Have at it with the time you have together under this same roof.  And for that, I suppose I have LeBron James to thank.

I started back in 2016 reading my little boy the basic books many parents have used to teach a little one to read.  I used Bob books, Dick and Jane books and the like.  Fortunately for me, he took to it quickly.  And there was only one person he wanted to read about.  There are scores of books about Lebron and his story, his mother, where he went to school, how he ended up in the NBA.  Everyone who loved us seemed inclined to track those down and send them to me, which will always mean so much.  Endless books of all levels and lengths about the details of his career, statistics and accomplishments.  I have one I have held onto that still remains in my bedroom called “The Boy Who Became King” and as my little boy and I were reading together one night during that time my life felt so lonely, so uncertain and I worried constantly if my kids were going to be okay, there was a passage in the book about little LeBron’s mother Gloria always being there for him.  And I kid you not, for I will remember it until my dying day, my boy looked right into my eyes and said to me, “just like you’ll always be there for me.”  And that’s all I wanted in the world, for all of them to know that – and there it easily came out of the mouth of my baby.  Yes, my son, just like Lebron’s mom was there for him, I will always be here for you.  And I suppose I have LeBron James to thank for that.

My life is a lot different now.  My kids have adjusted and grown, and they know their mom will be there for them.  Basketball, the NBA and LeBron James are still such a big part of my family, which feels so odd, but so perfect.  The LeBron versus Michael Jordan argument still powers on between my boys and so often grates on me like nails on a chalkboard, but then I remind myself that ten, fifteen, twenty years from now those boys will still come together to make their strong cases for their side.  And I will always, always side with LeBron – no matter what the facts, the pundits or my older boy says.  And you know what it is?  It’s fun.  LeBron James has brought my family so much good, solid, wholesome fun. We now all share clips between each other of LeBron’s boys dunking, or dancing, or in goofy Instagram reels bringing things almost full circle between LeBron and I.  Never would I as a young mother have ever thought these men I had hardly heard of would be such a part of my life.   My youngest and I will drive to Memphis at the end of February to see LeBron again, but this time on such different terms.  I with more confidence and peace with myself and he more able to remember the experience and truly embrace it.  And for that trip, and that time with my boy, and the memories he and I will share, I suppose I again have LeBron James to thank.