Read Online In My Skin by Brittney Griner - Free Book Online Page B

did that more often when I was at Baylor, and it felt good to hear.
    My dad is an extremely private man. He frowns upon people calling attention to themselves, even in situations meant to publicly honor them. I remember at my sister Pier’s graduation, in the moments before her name was called, he turned to the rest of us, me and DeCarlo and SheKera, and said, “Don’t jump up. Don’t y’all be loud.” We rolled our eyes at him and looked at each other like, Um, okay! The instant Pier’s name was called over the loudspeaker, we jumped out of our seats, screaming with excitement. Everyone turned and looked at us, because we were going crazy.
    That’s especially what my dad hates: the spotlight. When I first started getting media attention in high school because of my dunking, he would say to me, practically growling, “I ain’t gonna be interviewed, am I?” Over time, obviously, he did have to deal with reporters. And if somebody asked him a question, he would fall back on his experience as a police officer. You know how when something bad happens, and the cops hold a press briefing? Well, he had to do those on occasion, and he’d stand there in uniform, looking all stoic and tough, giving the shortest, most stripped-down answers. And that’s how he handled interviews about me, too.
    WHEN I JOGGED OVER to my dad at the Baylor summer camp, I wanted his approval—I still do, to this day—because he had already put so much time into my basketball activities. So I told him I wanted to commit to Baylor and asked him what he thought. “I don’t have a problem with that,” he said. And that was it. I smiled, then jogged away to finish the last few hours of camp. I knew from some of my friends, like Kelli, that you can’t commit to a college while you’re attending summer camp there; the NCAA has a rule against it, intended to protect kids from making impulsive decisions and to keep the camps from turning into recruiting circuses. I get the idea behind it, but the way it played out for me was pretty comical. The rule requires that a recruit must leave school grounds before committing. So when camp was over, I asked Kim if she was going to stick around for a while, because I planned to come right back. She said yes, she would be in her office. Then my dad and I left the Ferrell Center, got into his truck, drove off campus, made a U-turn, and headed straight back to the arena. We also called my mom to let her know what was happening, and she was so excited that I had decided to stay close to home.
    The women’s basketball offices overlook the practice court, which is attached to the Ferrell Center. There is a reception area right when you walk in, then a long hallway lined with pictures and awards. Kim’s office is in the back corner. I remember looking at all the pictures as I walked toward her office. There was a celebration shot from the 2005 NCAA championship game, after Baylor had won, and I said to myself, Oh my God, I want to do that. I want to win one of those. I was nodding my head, looking at all the action shots, and thinking, Yeah, I can see myself in green and gold.
    When we got to Kim’s office, all the coaches were there, along with a few players. My dad and I sat next to each other, across from Kim, who was at her desk. Someone handed me a Barq’s root beer. I remember that distinctly because root beer is my favorite soda, and it felt like a sign to me that they had root beer in the fridge. On the wall over Kim’s shoulder was a glass case containing all the championship rings she had won, from USA basketball, Baylor, her playing days at Louisiana Tech. I looked at them and decided I wanted to win them for myself, too. I was fidgeting in my seat, because I didn’t know the exact words to say.
    â€œSo, Coach,” I began, “I don’t know how this goes. I don’t know what to say. But I want to come here.