By Ruiduo S. (11th Grade)

The day after my 10th-grade final exams, I hoisted the backpack I had prepared long ago, grabbed my beloved gear—a basketball and three pairs of basketball shoes—and boarded a plane to the United States, setting off once again on a holiday basketball training camp, all in pursuit of my basketball dream. 

Through the plane window, the fiery red dawn reflected my pounding heart, which refused to calm down. Thoughts of my parents’ concerned, reluctant gazes filled my mind, leaving me overwhelmed with emotion. Before 3rd grade, I failed to meet the standards in all physical fitness tests, and I could never hold my head high in front of my classmates, always appearing listless. But in 4th grade, I had a growth spurt, towering over my peers. It was then that my father began to cultivate my interest in basketball. No matter the season, the community basketball court saw us every day—my father and me. Under the scorching sun, we would sweat profusely, our clothes soaked as if we had been pulled from the water, and beads of sweat would drip from our foreheads like raindrops. Tireless, I was like a wind-up toy that wouldn’t stop. Even in the biting winter wind, my cheeks would turn red, and my fingers would go numb, yet I persisted, repeatedly practicing under-the-basket moves until I felt like I had unlocked a new level of skill. 

After a year of training, I had mastered the techniques of playing the center position. By then, wrinkles had etched themselves into my father’s forehead, and streaks of gray had appeared in his hair. But hard work pays off—in 5th grade, I started as a member of the school team, and we brought home the Western City Championship Cup alongside the 6th graders, bringing glory to the school. This honor developed a sense of responsibility, driving me to keep chasing my basketball dream without faltering. 

In 7th grade, I entered Beijing No. 8 High School and became a key player on the school team. By 10th grade, I had grown to 1.94 meters tall, and I needed to learn the techniques and play styles of the 1, 2, and 3 positions, as well as how to control the game. At first, I struggled with the transition and even considered giving up. But my father patiently advised me and once again accompanied me to the United States for special training. Here, my teammates—whether 7’1″, 6’10”, or just over 5 feet—were all incredibly skilled, flying through the air and mastering every technique. The trainers and teammates reignited my passion for basketball, and I spent every day moving between the basketball court, the fitness training center, and group practices. At night, my father—who wore three hats as my driver, cook, and photographer—would collapse on the couch, too tired to even wash up before falling asleep. Watching my exhausted father, a lump of unspoken words would form in my throat, and tears would fall like beads from a broken necklace. My inner conviction told me that the only way to repay him was to keep working hard and chasing my dream. 

As the plane slowly taxied down the runway, I snapped back to reality. This time, my father couldn’t accompany me for training in the U.S. due to work commitments. Now, with a deep love for basketball, I’m setting off alone to a distant place, continuing to chase my dream.