Do you remember your first day of first grade? I remember mine. I had picked out my clothes the night before and so on the Tuesday after Labor Day, I descended the stairs in jeans and a sweatshirt. When my mom saw me, she threw a fit. "Briann Marie, what are you wearing?"

"Clothes, Mamma."

"You're not wearing that to your first day of school. Upstairs, now."

"But Mamma," I protested.

"No buts young lady." My mom marched me upstairs and dug through my closet, finding one of my church dresses. It had a floral print and lots of lace. I reluctantly put it on and then watched in horror as my mom put my shoulder length brown hair up in ponytails on either side of my head. She then put white ribbons around the ponytails and tied them in bows. "There. Now you look like a nice young lady. Go show your father."

I groaned and ran down the stairs. Dad was reading the paper and drinking coffee. I was an only child and as soon as I figured out that my father had wanted a son, I began to like sports and cars instead of dolls and tea parties. I was always out behind our house playing soccer with the local kids and climbing trees. I was a regular tomboy. He looked up from his morning paper and started laughing. He tried to hide behind the paper, but I had already heard him.

I ran upstairs crying, "I'm not going!"

I heard my mother yell from the bottom of the stairs, "Briann Marie Michelle Little, yes you are! Get down here now!"

I knew then that there was nothing I could say or do to get me out of that dress. Most of the time it was only "Briann Marie," but when my mother used "Michelle," I knew she meant business.

I reluctantly trudged down the stairs. My mom wiped away my tears and handed me my Hotwheels lunchbox. I refused to carry a girly lunchbox. She then took pictures of me and led me out the door. Since the school was only a few blocks away, she let me walk. She stood on the doorstep with tears in her eyes and watched me walk away.

About four houses down, I ran into Brian. Actually he ran into me. I had seen him in church and we had sung in the children's choir together. We had even played soccer a couple of times together, but I never really knew his name. His mom was doing the same thing my mom was: standing on the front steps crying. But then again, she had a right to be crying. Just a year earlier, the doctors had told her Brian had no chance of living.

"Now you watch out for your brother, Harry," she called.

"Don't worry Mom. I will," Harry, Brian's older brother said.

"Now, Brian, you be careful. Remember what the doctors told you." She tightened the jacket around her youngest son's shoulders.

"Mom, I'm fine. Come on, I'm gonna be late." Brian pulled away from his mother and raced after his brother who was already at the end of the yard.

"Brian, don't run," she called.

Brian must not have heard her because the next thing I knew, I was lying in the grass. He had run into me and knocked me over.

"Brian!" I heard his mother exclaim. I closed my eyes and when I opened them, Brian's mom was helping me to my feet. "Brian, what do you say?"

Brian looked at his feet and mumbled, "I'm sorry."

"I forgive you," I said, picking up my lunchbox.

"I knew I shouldn't have let you go to school," he mom said.

"Mom, he'll be fine. Come on, Bri, we gotta go," Harry said, taking his brother's hand.

I stayed behind the two boys and followed them to school. Before too long, Brian's pace slowed and he started breathing hard. "Harry, slow down," he said, stopping to catch his breath.

Harry stopped and turned around. "Sorry bro, I forgot." The three of us stood there for a minute while Brian caught his breath. Harry then noticed that I was still with them and said to me, "Hey, what's your name?"

"Briann," I said confidently.

"Well, I'm Harry, and this is my little brother, Brian." Brian picked his head up at the mention of his name and looked at me. He grinned. "You ready to continue? I'll take it slow, I promise," Harry asked Brian.

Brian nodded and continued to look at me. As we started walking again, he noticed my lunchbox. "You like Hotwheels?" he asked in amazement.

"Yeah, who doesn't?" I asked.

"Well, you're a girl."

"So? Hey, what grade are you in?"

"First."

"Me too. Who's your teacher?"

"Rosenthal."

"Hey, we're in the same class! That is so neat." Just then, we arrived at the elementary school. "Hey, I'll race ya to class," I said.

"I can't," Brian said with a hint of sadness in his voice.

"Why not?" I asked, continuing to walk.

"Mamma says I have heart condition and I'm not supposed to play hard."

"So what, you can't play anything at recess?"

"I dunno. Mamma said I can't play soccer anymore."

"There are other games. You ever play basketball?"

"That has running in it. I saw the Wildcats play last year."

"You got to see the Wildcats?" I was amazed. The Wildcats were the hometown college basketball team. It seemed like every kid that I knew wanted to grow up and be on the team.

"Yeah."

"Cool."

"Well, here you two are. Mrs. Rosenthal's class," Harry said, dropping us off. "If you need anything Brian, I'm in Mr. Henrich's class, okay?"

Brian nodded and we entered the classroom together.

The desks were arranged in to groups of four and on every desk was nametag. Brian and I walked around trying to find our names. I found my name first and quickly sat down. Brian was in the seat right next to me. Seeing them spelled out right there on the desks in front of us made us realized how similar our names were.

That day at recess, Brian and I talked for a bit about his heart condition and what he could and couldn't do. We finally ended up shooting a basketball at the hoop for the time we were outside. It was that first experience that got Brian interested in basketball.

To Chapter Two

Email me