by Tim Tingle
Trust Your Name
Tim Tingle
7th Generation
Summertown, Tennessee
Library of Congress Cataloging-in-Publication Data
Names: Tingle, Tim, author.
Title: Trust your name / Tim Tingle.
Description: Summertown, Tennessee : 7th Generation, [2018] | Sequel to: A name earned. | Summary: When the Choctaw Nation sponsors an all-Indian high school basketball team to compete in a summer tournament, the team includes Choctaw Bobby Byington and other Indian high school players from Eastern Oklahoma.
Identifiers: LCCN 2018026480 | ISBN 9781939053190 (pbk.)
Subjects: | CYAC: Basketball—Fiction. | Choctaw Indians—Fiction. | Indians of North America—Oklahoma—Fiction. | Oklahoma—Fiction.
Classification: LCC PZ7.T489 Tr 2018 | DDC [Fic]—dc23
LC record available at https://lccn.loc.gov/2018026480
© 2018 Tim Tingle
Cover design: John Wincek
All rights reserved. No portion of this book may be reproduced by any means whatsoever, except for brief quotations in reviews, without written permission from the publisher.
7th Generation
an imprint of Book Publishing Company
PO Box 99, Summertown, TN 38483
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bookpubco.com
nativevoicesbooks.com
ISBN: 978-1-939053-19-0
23 22 21 20 19 18 1 2 3 4 5 6 7 8 9
Contents
Chapter 1: Stepping Down the Mountain
Chapter 2: Best Summer Job Ever
Chapter 3: Same Old, Same Old
Chapter 4: Mato Arrives
Chapter 5: First Time for Everything
Chapter 6: No Other Option
Chapter 7: Miracle Room Comes Through Again
Chapter 8: Call Your Own Fouls
Chapter 9: Will Summer Ever Get Here?
Chapter 10: Achukma, Bad, and the Ugly
Chapter 11: Zipper-Mouth Night
Chapter 12: A Star Is Born
Chapter 13: Two O’Clock, Tulsa Time
Chapter 14: On the Side of Good
Chapter 15: Makeover and Matthews
Chapter 16: Wake-Up Call
Chapter 17: Bobby Better Score
Chapter 18: Back Seat Ride
Chapter 19: Through the Looking Glass
Chapter 20: Back to Business
Chapter 21: Championship on the Line
Chapter 22: Root Beer Toast
To Paige Young and her Papaw Bill, both eager readers
CHAPTER 1
Stepping Down the Mountain
There’s nothing better than playing for the district high school basketball championship.
Of that I was convinced. But I was wrong. Winning your district championship basketball game, that would be better. And we Panthers came so close, but close is never good enough.
I still believe we could have won if Lloyd Blanton hadn’t been hurt. Lloyd’s ankle was badly sprained and he could barely walk. He sat with his dad in the stands and watched our chances float away, with one bad pass after another.
With only a few minutes to go, I glanced at Lloyd in the stands. He had his head buried in his hands, and what I saw next was worth the evening. Yes, basketball is important—it saved my life. But if you have to choose between your favorite sport and family, the choice is easy.
Lloyd’s dad looked to his son and saw his sadness. He grabbed him around the shoulders and pulled him close. I can’t read lips, but whatever he said showed a strong father-son bonding. Something like, “They’re missing you, son.”
Lloyd gave his dad a smile and nodded, “Thank you.”
After the game, we rushed through the handshakes and hurried to our dressing room. Soon Coach Robison entered and we grew quiet.
“Men,” he said, “this is not the time for a grand speech about the season we have had, the battles we’ve won and lost. I want to ask one thing of you as you remember tonight’s game, over and over, as I will. Hear me out.
“Blame no one. Every one of you fought and hustled and did everything I asked of you, everything your teammates needed. Blame no one, and when you think basketball, think of the games we won. And when you think of the loss, work to improve so next year our friends and family are celebrating. You are all, my young Panther men, champions in my heart.
“Thank you for allowing me to be your coach.”
As he turned to go, he had one more thought, one he had to share. “Panthers,” he said, and we all grew quiet and turned our attention to him. “No one will ever truly know why certain things happen, but I would like to share something my Choctaw mother used to say.
The Lord works in mysterious ways, his miracles to perform.”
What a miracle worker is our coach, Coach Robison. On a night when we lost our only district title in two decades, he left us smiling.
We dressed quietly and quickly and soon stood on the sidewalk, avoiding fans and friends from school as best we could. Nobody wanted to talk. We weren’t very good at handling defeat.
Mom and Dad met me in the parking lot, and Dad asked, “You’ll probably want to ride home with Johnny?”
“If that’s hoke, Dad,” I said.
“Sure, Bobby,” Dad said. “Stay strong and we’ll see you in a few hours.”
My best friend, Cherokee Johnny, had his own car and usually gave me a ride everywhere. As we walked to his car, Lloyd and his dad were waiting for us.
“Mind if I tag along?” Lloyd asked.
“You know you’re always welcome,” said Johnny.
“I won’t be long,” Lloyd said to his dad.
“No worries,” Mr. Blanton said. He stepped toward his car, then stopped and slowly turned to face us.
“You gotta admit, Lloyd, we’re better now with these two Indians on the team,” Mr. Blanton said.
Lloyd looked at Johnny, looked at me, and gave us a quiet smile. “Bet that’s something you never thought you’d hear from my dad,” he said quietly.
“See you in an hour, son,” Mr. Blanton said. “Gives you a little play time.”
He knew we weren’t going anywhere to “play,” but he was giving us time to talk through the game. We hopped in Johnny’s car and turned in the direction of Lake Thunderbird.
“Any reason you’re driving this way?” I asked.
“Yeah,” said Johnny. “I thought you’d want to see if they ever repaired the fence you broke. Wouldn’t want you feeling guilty about that little escapade.”
“Whoa,” Lloyd said. “Get our minds off the game in a hurry, huh, Johnny.”
My thoughts took another step to the past, to the night following my first-ever high school game. I played well, we won, and Dad was thrown out of the gym for showing up stumbling drunk.
He waited for me in the parking lot, and as Johnny and I neared his car, he honked his horn loudly and flew past us, shaking his fist at me.
I grabbed Johnny’s car keys and took off after Dad, speeding to Lake Thunderbird, his favorite drinking spot. Dad made it fine, but when I saw him standing by the roadside and tapping his hand to his heart, I lost it.
He was letting me know he loved me!
I let go of the steering wheel and crashed Johnny’s car through the fence and into the lake. I came so close to dying, but the real miracle was not my survival. My near-death experience brought our family together, really together for the first time—that was the real miracle.
“The Lord works in mysterious ways, his miracles to perform,” that’s what Coach said.
Johnny parked his car at the roadside park overlooking the lake. The wire fence was now a stone wall. We drank Cokes and DPs, ate chips, and talked about the game. And the past year. L
loyd had an even tougher time than I did.
His dad had survived a heart attack that almost killed him, and why? Because Lloyd refused to give up, caused a ruckus in the hospital, and the doctors gave it one more try.
There followed a beautiful quiet moment, with the moon shining on the lake and waves washing gently against the cliffs. Our minds were a single cloud, floating from one brush with death to the other.
“You Indians sure know how to attack,” Lloyd said, “especially when a man is flat on his back.”
“I give up,” said Johnny. “What are you talking about?”
“I’m talking about when you two attacked my dad’s heart.”
What?
“Yeah,” said Lloyd. “He did everything he could to hate you Indians, to hate your families, to hate Coach Robison because he was Choctaw. So you went on the warpath.”
We waited in silence. We knew this was not a joke—his voice was too serious and he was almost crying.
“Dad broke Coach’s window and Coach invited him to speak to the team. Dad cussed about you two even playing on the team, to anybody who would listen.
“And what did you do? You attacked my old man with goodness. You forgave him and worked hard to make me part of the new Panthers, the winning Panthers. Thank you, guys.”
I can never think of this night as the night we lost the district basketball title. No, I will forever remember this as the night Johnny and Lloyd and I became brothers.
CHAPTER 2
Best Summer Job Ever
The Monday following the game, Coach Robison called us all together after school. We gathered at the gym and sat on the bleachers, having no idea what was about to happen.
“We’ve had a good year, men,” said Coach Robison. “And I am calling you men rather than boys for a reason.” He smiled, glancing at the floor, and when he raised his head to look at us, his basketball team, his eyes beamed with respect. He lifted his palms to the ceiling and continued.
“We did not win the district championship, so I won’t call it a great season. But what you men have achieved is so far beyond what anyone expected.
“I know the troubles many of you have overcome just to stay in school and keep your grades up so you can play sports. I have seen you come together as a team, on and off the court. Yes, I am proud to be your coach.
“And here’s the good news, men,” he said. “The Choctaw Nation has asked me to coach a summer basketball team. The Five Tribes will sponsor the team in a summer league, which leads to a national tournament. Games will be played in Tulsa, Oklahoma City, and Little Rock, Arkansas. The regional tournament will be in Tulsa.”
Everyone held their breath and no one said a word. I looked at Johnny—he lowered his head and returned my look. We knew where this was going and hoped no one would be upset about being left out.
“As many of you have already guessed, the team I will be coaching is an all-Indian team, with players from high schools mostly in Eastern Oklahoma.”
A loud whoooosh circled the dressing room, and the feeling of disappointment was like a heavy fog. Johnny and I had the same thought—how can we leave these guys home, our Panther teammates?
Coach Robison was ready. “Men,” he said, “if it were up to me, you would all be on my team till your grandkids had to help you off the court!”
Hoke, we had to laugh at that!
“Coach, we’re never gonna get that old,” Johnny said. Cherokee Johnny was the only other Indian on our team.
“No, not the way you drive,” said Coach.
When the backslapping and laughter drifted away, he continued. “I accepted this job on one condition,” he said. “As players show up to try out for the team, you Panthers will scrimmage with us. You’ll play as hard and as clean as you have all season, and help me decide who’s on the team.”
“How they play against you Panthers will go a long way in determining Bobby and Johnny’s teammates. We all want this team, the first Indian team ever in the tournament, to win.
“Any questions?” Coach Robison asked.
“When do we start?” Jimmy asked. He was our senior post player and was already wondering where he might play college basketball.
“In two weeks we’ll have our first scrimmage, on a Saturday. Can I see a show of hands? Who wants to play?”
Without hesitation, everyone raised their hands.
“That’s what I was hoping for,” Coach said.
“Thank you, Coach,” we all said, shaking his hand as we hurried to the parking lot full of cars and buses.
“Wow,” said Johnny as we stepped into his car. “Did you have any idea we’d be playing ball in the summer?”
“Nope,” I said. “I knew we’d hit the court at the park every day, to get out of mowing the lawn and repainting the house, or whatever else our dads have planned.”
“Wonder if our folks know anything about this,” Johnny said.
“Coach is still on the sidewalk,” I said. “Maybe if you swing around and drive real slow, we can ask him.”
Johnny circled the street and returned to the parking lot, stopping just behind Coach’s car as he was opening the door.
I rolled my window down. “Say, Coach,” I said, and before I could even get the question from brain to lips, he had his reply.
“I was wondering what took you two so long. Yes, I called both of your parents at noon today. They are as excited as you are. And you’ll both be interested in knowing that your dads had summer jobs lined up for you.”
“I don’t think ‘Thank you, Coach’ comes anywhere near close enough,” Johnny said.
“You are right there, son. Now, drive careful and I’ll see you tomorrow for our first informal after-school workout.”
“Still the mind-reader,” I added as we pulled away. “You know that is a Choctaw power, don’t you, Cherokee Johnny?”
“Yeah, and blocking your jumper when you try driving to the basket, that’s a Cherokee power. And don’t you forget it.”
Our minds were ablaze as we left the school, with questions pouring out as fast as we could form the words.
“Where do you think we’ll play?”
“Will there be any players from Indian boarding schools?”
“Where do we stay when we travel? Man, I want to get to the national tournament!”
“Did you watch the Oklahoma state finals last year?” Johnny asked. “Man, that Lakota post man was strong! He muscled his way to the basket and nobody could stop him.”
“Oh yeah,” I said. “They call him Mato, a Lakota word meaning bear. His name was Mick Harris, but everybody calls him Mato.”
CHAPTER 3
Same Old, Same Old
School went by with nothing exciting happening. Well, that depends on what you mean by exciting, as my Uncle Charley says.
Hoke, bully-girl Heather had long ago picked my next-door neighbor and brilliant student, Faye, as the target for her abuse. But now Faye was tutoring Heather, on orders from the principal. Today, Heather was late and missed the tutoring session.
When Heather finally did show up, midway through first period, she had scratches on her neck and a torn blouse. Faye told me about it at lunch as we forked our thin-cut ham and gravy.
“Heather has been late to school all of her life, I’m guessing,” she said. “But this time it was different. Before, she’d hide the scratches, change her blouse, and take all the blame for being late. Now she blamed her stepmother.”
“Did her stepmother do that to her?” I asked.
“Oh yes,” Faye said. “Things must be worse than ever at home.”
“What’s next?”
“Heather said she can’t live with her stepmother anymore and she’s finally decided to do something about it.”
“No way she’d rather live in a foster home,” I said.
“Maybe we should tell her about your hiding place,” said Faye.
“Mystery Lady Faye, the whole world knows about my hiding place.”
>
My hiding place, my underground home.
The coffin-sized hole I dug in my backyard, with the weed-covered door over it. My hiding place when Dad came home drunk, which used to be often. No longer. Dad and Mom are the best parents ever, doing their best to please each other, not themselves.
Heather and Johnny and Lloyd, and even Coach Robison, knew about the hiding place. They kept the secret till I finally trusted Dad enough to tell him. And our lives changed because of our new friendship.
Not right away, of course, but that’s another story.
Faye and I hurried up eating, ran our trays to the kitchen window, and sprinted to the hall.
“I’ll find out and let you know about Heather,” Faye said.
“See ya after class,” I said, waving over my shoulder.
Cherokee Johnny and I were meeting Coach and our teammates after school for our first postseason practice, getting ready for the Indian basketball team tryouts. After the final bell, I walked down the hall to the gym. Faye stood waiting for me at the door.
“Any news on Heather?” I asked.
“Yes, Bobby, and maybe it’s good news. Heather has been taken away from her home. Her dad was upset, but didn’t make a scene at the police station.”
“And her stepmother?”
“She was sentenced to six weeks of community service, and when she screamed ‘I’ll get that lying …’ you know, the judge sentenced her to a month in jail.”
“I hope Heather never has to see her again.”
“I’m sure Heather feels the same way, Bobby.”
“So where is Heather?”
“That’s the good news. One of her aunts has a daughter who just left for college. And since there’s an empty bedroom, she has agreed to let Heather live with her.”
“How does Heather’s dad feel about that?” I asked.
“From what I hear, he’s happy about it. Apparently he never tried to stop his second wife from beating up on Heather, and it’s been going on for years.”
“How can anybody not care about what happens to their daughter?” I asked, fighting thoughts about my own family past and my mother driving away one summer morning. Driving away and leaving me with my alcoholic dad.
