The Detroit Pistons Were My Father's Second Family
Briefly

My father waited for me after the game, and as soon as I saw him I burst into tears. I can still see his expression, tender and somehow unsurprised, even though we both knew that my performance was irrelevant.
I had landed a full scholarship, but it was clear that I wasn't going to develop into a college player of even minor significance. Something else was at stake, and I think we knew that, too.
There was a feeling of fun, of constant tumult, in our house, but my father could be a hard-ass, too. He'd grown up in eastern Pennsylvania-his father and grandfather were coal miners-and in the Second World War he had
Read at The New Yorker
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