In My Skin (7 page)

I
f I hadn't gone to Baylor, I probably would have chosen Texas A&M or maybe Tennessee. But that's all hypothetical, because the truth is that I only had eyes for Baylor. Once I really started paying attention to colleges, during my sophomore season at Nimitz, I began to realize how many things about Baylor I liked. One of my good friends on the Houston Hotshots, Kelli Griffin, had decided to play there. She was two years ahead of me, so I already knew a little bit about the school. The location was perfect for me; Waco is only three hours from Houston, and I liked the small-town feel of it and the compact size of the campus. I knew Baylor assistant coach Damion McKinney because he had previously been involved with my AAU program in Dallas, DFW Elite. He's an awesome dude, and I felt really comfortable around him. I liked Kim, too. I had a decent sense of her personality just from being around Makenzie with the AAU squad and watching the two of them interact. I saw some of the same traits in Kim that I saw in my dad—they're both intense, tough-talking authority types—and even though I resented how strict, how overwhelming, my dad could be, I was also used to putting up with it. And from what I could tell, Kim seemed more fair and understanding. I was so sheltered and contained, I knew that when I got to college I would probably let loose, and I needed a coach who would let me get my wild out while still being able to keep me in line.

I attended Baylor's camp during the summer after my sophomore year of high school. Until then, I had actually spent more time in College Station, watching Texas A&M. I went to a bunch of Aggies games during the winter, because the school was only ninety minutes from Houston. I think their coach, Gary Blair, thought I was destined to choose A&M. But I fell in love with Baylor at that summer camp. The campus was just small enough that I could walk everywhere I needed to go; it wasn't huge and sprawling like the University of Texas in Austin. I also liked the vibe I got when I talked to Kim in between sessions. I would seek her out on my way to get water and ask her questions about the drills we were doing. I was a sponge, because basketball still felt so new to me.

On the last day of camp, we were scrimmaging, and I was going hard, wanting to prove myself. The Baylor players, who were working the camp, were watching from the sidelines, and they were pumping me up, shouting encouragement. At one point in the middle of playing, I thought to myself,
Damn, I like it here. I'm going to commit.
As soon as the drill ended, I jogged over to my dad, who was watching in the stands, and I said to him, “I want to commit here. What do you think about that?” I figured he would be happy about it, because it meant I would stay in state, so he could still see me play and keep an eye on me. Even though our relationship was growing more strained, I still recognized and appreciated all the ways in which he supported my budding basketball career.

MY DAD DROVE ME
everywhere for hoops, partly because he didn't like me going anywhere alone. We spent countless hours together in his truck, driving to and from AAU practice, to and from tournaments. I remember one day, his boss didn't want to give him the time off he was requesting, and I overheard Dad say into the phone, “Well, my girl has a tournament and I'm going to be there. You can fire me if you want.” He didn't know I could hear him, but it made me happy. He never missed a game. Throughout my college career, he would always drive to Waco and back in one night, even if he had to be at work by six o'clock the next morning. I call him the Protector. Some of my AAU teammates would hop rides with other people's moms, making long road trips in a van that usually had a cooler filled with Gatorades and snacks. But not me. Nope. No way. My dad and I would ride together in his truck, to South Carolina or Alabama. If he didn't go, I didn't go. But he always went. And those rides were actually pretty cool. We would just talk about random stuff, nothing heavy, but I was glad to have any connection with my dad, even if it was superficial. Without basketball, we probably wouldn't have spent time together during my teenage years.

I could also always count on my dad to be stoic during my games. He wasn't one of those parents who become emotional when their kids play, or yell at the coach, or call out instructions. He would just sit on the sideline, no emotion, even if it was the final play of a close game and everyone else was standing up and screaming. He saved his criticisms and advice for after the game, but I never felt compelled to listen too closely because he had never played basketball. In fact, he only started watching it the year I started playing it. Of course, that didn't keep him from offering advice about what I could do better. But he stopped doing it once I got to college, because he knew it bothered me. He would just say something simple and positive, like “Good game” or “You played well.” Occasionally, he would even say, “I'm proud of you.” He 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.

“So, Coach,” I began, “I don't know how this goes. I don't know what to say. But I want to come here. Do you want me?”

She smiled and said, “Big Girl, of course I do!” Then she got serious for a moment. “You realize you're making a verbal commitment and you have to go by your word?”

“Yeah,” I said. “I mean, yes, ma'am. I understand.” I had a confused look on my face, because I thought that's exactly what I was doing, making a verbal commitment. So I said it again, with conviction. “Yes. I want to come to Baylor.”

When Kim heard that, she started shouting—“Big Girl is coming to Baylor!”—and the door burst open and people poured in. They must have been waiting just outside, with their ears pinned to the door. It was like they were spilling out of a clown car. Damion was pumping his fist and hollering, “Yeah, yeah, yeah, Big Girl is here!” And Rekha Patterson, another assistant coach, was whooping it up at the top of her lungs. Then we all had a big group hug, like family, right inside Kim's office. They were all so excited, like I was a big deal, and their reaction made me feel good, important. I mean, I knew I was a high-level recruit, because I was listed in all the rankings as one of the best players in the country. But I had been hooping for only a couple of years, and I wasn't that far removed from the confused middle-school kid who figured she would join the military after high school. I didn't have years of AAU ball—some kids start playing at age nine or ten—to build my ego. So that moment in Kim's office meant so much to me.

Even though a verbal commitment isn't legally binding, most teams stopped calling me once word got out that I had said yes to Baylor. Schools still expressed their interest, but the only coach who seriously hung around—I guess in case I changed my mind for some reason—was Gary Blair at Texas A&M. He showed up at a lot of my high school games, and he kept recruiting me until the day I signed on the dotted line with Baylor, November 12, 2008, in my senior year of high school. I have to give him credit.

Some kids might get a rush from all the attention that comes with the recruiting game, but I was happy to avoid most of it. I have friends who didn't decide on their schools until the last minute, and by the end of it all, they were sick of the whole process. They were sick of hearing the phone ring and feeling obligated to talk. And I'm sure a lot of coaches get tired of chasing after players. It's just one big song and dance, with everyone playing a role. Kim had to walk a fine line as a mother and as a coach, because Makenzie played on the same AAU team with girls who were being recruited by Baylor. I know there are plenty of folks who think Kim took advantage of the situation, but I think that's just sour grapes. It's not like Kim gave birth to Makenzie in the hopes that she would eventually grow up to play basketball at the same time, on the same AAU team, as one of the top recruits in the country. All coaches walk the line, trying to get every advantage they can while staying within the rules (or not getting caught breaking the rules). Everyone is looking for an edge.

A week after we won the national championship at Baylor, during my junior season, the NCAA put our program on probation for three years, along with the men's basketball team, after the school reported itself for rules violations, because various members of the coaching staffs had made “impermissible” phone calls and sent too many text messages to recruits—more than the rules allowed. In my case specifically, it was a minor violation for the coaches to talk about the Baylor program, in any way, when I attended that summer camp, even though I had asked them questions. It was also a violation for Kim to sit next to my dad during AAU games and talk about life as a Baylor athlete, even after I had verbally committed to the school. I could easily launch into a big long tangent here about the business of college sports, and the NCAA, and the hypocrisy and controversy around all of it, but that's not really my battle. I have other issues and causes that are closer to my heart. Let's just say I can't even imagine what a circus my life would have been like if I hadn't picked a college early on, if I had waited for other schools to roll out the red carpet and recruit me hard. No thank you.

I will admit, though, I did enjoy the ego boost I got when the recruiting letters first started coming after ninth grade. I was reminded of that a few weeks into my rookie season in Phoenix. My mom called me one day when she was doing some spring cleaning and came across a box of recruiting letters I had saved. She asked me, “Do you still want these?” And I didn't even hesitate. “Yes!” I said. “Do not throw away my letters!” I'm sure at some point I won't care anymore, but right now I still see that box of letters as a reminder of how my life went in a different direction, and how I'm trying to make the most of this opportunity.

I
love my dad so much. When I close my eyes, I can see myself as a little girl, following him everywhere. I wanted to be just like him. And I hold tight to the good memories now—us fixing cars together, watching military shows, me looking through an old trunk filled with his letters from Vietnam—because so much has changed between us. I know I can't let myself forget how close we were. I can't let myself forget that I was once a daddy's girl. But as I've grown older, I've come to realize my father is not an easy man. Maybe the problem is we're too much alike. It's almost as if we're the same puzzle piece, so nothing fits together; we're just always clashing, bumping heads. He is an old-school tough-love disciplinarian, because that's how he was raised.