As I watched my kids eagerly tearing into their Christmas presents, a wave of sadness engulfed me. The thrill they felt with each new toy would soon dissipate, replaced by their next obsession. Parenting often serves as a reflection of our own youth, shedding light on the enduring regrets we carry.
One of my greatest regrets has always been not auditioning for my high school basketball team.
After relocating from Kuala Lumpur to McLean High School in Northern Virginia, my main goal was to fit in and avoid being labeled a geek. I did succeed in making the varsity tennis team as a freshman; however, when basketball season arrived, I hesitated.
Despite telling my P.E. teacher about my desire to join the basketball team and practicing diligently, when it came time for tryouts, I couldn’t muster the bravery to show up. My anxieties took over.
Basketball had enchanted me since sixth grade in Malaysia, where Michael Jordan was my idol. I longed to own a pair of his prized shoes, but lack of funds meant I had to settle for hand-me-downs from my tall friend Todd Adams. Even though they were two sizes too large, wearing those Jordan 5s felt like sporting magic on my feet.
For thirty-three years, that regret lingered—until not long ago.
Every Sunday night, an open basketball run occurs at my children’s school gym, available free for dads, staff, and friends. At first, the thought filled me with both fascination and dread, especially with tales of injuries combined with my own history of spraining my left ankle over twenty-five times. However, when another dad, John, encouraged me to join, I hesitated, using familiar justifications about injury and embarrassment. He dismissed my worries, assuring me I would fit right in.
Once I finally stepped onto the court, I was amazed. The majority of players were under thirty-five, with plenty being even younger. The tempo of the game was surprisingly brisk.
Having not played in more than ten years, I concentrated on defense. Despite standing at just 5′ 10″ and weighing 168 pounds, I channeled Draymond Green’s spirit and committed wholly to the game. I managed to keep two players scoreless in various games, set solid screens, and pass the ball to teammates in scoring positions. Astonishingly, we won our first game, and I realized that I could indeed compete.
In the final game, one of our top players drove to the basket, passed the ball out to me at the top of the key, and I nailed a three-pointer for the win. It felt surreal—like a scene from slow motion—as I watched the ball soar through the air and swish into the net. The exhilaration was unparalleled, ranking among the best feelings I had experienced in years, reminiscent of successfully negotiating my severance in 2012.
As I played, I received an unexpected gift: the opportunity to release a long-held regret. I began to connect with the organizer, an eighth-grade teacher who also guided students through high school applications, and I met several dads with whom I genuinely connected. Finally facing and letting go of that thirty-three-year-old regret was liberating.
Even had I not succeeded on the court, the enjoyment I experienced would have created its own sense of fulfillment. My fears of mockery proved unfounded; as a parent in the school, I was meant to be there.
Experiencing a lack of belonging is common, particularly among minorities and newcomers. We often dread judgment, criticism, and exclusion. Yet, the more we participate, the more life seems to reward our bravery.
Surprisingly, I found that my overall fitness level surpassed about seventy-five percent of the players, thanks to years spent playing tennis and pickleball. In hindsight, I had doubted my ability to keep pace, as fitness becomes the great equalizer as we age. Reflecting on my past tennis experiences further demonstrated how determination and fitness can balance the playing field against more skilled rivals.
The act of showing up transformed everything for me. Time doesn’t pause; regrets accumulate, whether trivial, like skipping tryouts, or significant, like missed chances in relationships or finances.
Realizing that if I didn’t grasp the chance to play organized basketball at 48, I might never have another opportunity served as a wake-up call. I recognized that taking this regret into old age wasn’t an option.
Currently, my focus is on maintaining fitness and embracing more game time while being cautious to avoid injuries. Although I still feel apprehensive about possible mishaps, I will keep showing up as long as my body permits.
Confronting this long-standing regret cost me nothing; it only required the simple act of participating. I noted that life’s regrets, surprisingly, can weigh as heavily as financial ones, both arising from disappointment in not realizing one’s potential.
As I journey through life, I encourage anyone battling with regret to confront and resolve it before time slips away.