My Father's Birthday!!!

Growing up, I had many heroes.  There was Michael Jordan...

...Bruce Lee...

...He Man...

...but the greatest hero of them all was my father.

And since his birthday is this week, I'm going to dedicate this entire post to him!

As I child, I regarded him with a mixture of fear and awe and admiration, but mostly I just wanted to be like him.

In his professional life, my father was a military man, a career soldier travelling the world assisting in various US-sanctioned scrapes.  He retired some time ago and has settled down to a peaceful life of Bible study, gardening, and strenuous daily weight-lifting.

I like to drive down and watch basketball games with him during the NBA season.  He doesn't always have much to say, but if you're patient and quiet and prod him at just the right time, he might just tell you a story.  And my father has good stories, like the one about seeing giant buzzards in Sierra Leone...

...or the brief statements he makes about working with Special Forces in eastern Europe...

...but my favorite story is probably the one he told me last year about playing professional basketball in Turkey in the late 1970s...

By all accounts, my father was nice on the basketball court.  From what I've been able to piece together, he was an aggressive offensive player with a quick first step and a remarkable vertical.

He grew up and played his high school basketball in Chesapeake, Virginia, and after some college in North Carolina, he decided the best career move for himself and his young bride (AKA, my mother) was to join up with the United States Air Force.

He worked in communications as a radio operator.  In one of his first assignments, he was sent overseas to Incirlik, Turkey.

Where there are soldiers, there are basketball courts, and Airman Anthony Creekmore stood out as an unusually talented basketball player.

The base commander took note of his ability and, being well-acquainted with a local Turk who owned a basketball team, saw a positive public relations opportunity.

And so my father was added to the roster of a professional Turkish basketball team.

Now, you've got to understand, Black Americans are a novelty everywhere in the world outside of the United States.  People from other countries and nations know all of the stereotypes and they tend to be curious.

The same stereotypes that exist today (minus the ones related specifically to hip-hop) existed back in the 70s and basketball, universally, is associated with Black Americans.  So when my father stepped out onto the court, expectations were high...

He told me that it took him a while to get into the rhythm of the game.  The Turks played basketball in an unfamiliar way, slower and more physical.  The coach of the team, through a translator, told my father to use his speed and just go around them.

It's called being in the zone, that feeling you get on the court where you KNOW every shot you take is going in.

And that night, my father was In The Zone.  Unstoppable...

...uncontainable...

...unmerciful...

He ended up with 40 points and was carried off of the court by fans and teammates, like a superstar.

I don't know that any of this was legal, strictly speaking, but when your base commander tells you to go teach the locals how the game of basketball is played, you do your duty.

And so he did.

Decades before Allen Iverson traveled across the ocean to join up with a team in Istanbul, my father was there, a few cities south, lacing up a pair of basketball sneakers and laying the foundation.


I mean, how could someone like that not be your hero?

I love you, Dad.  Happy Birthday!

Cheers.

...on a somewhat related note, have you ever read The Black Count?  It's a book about the father of French author Alexandre Dumas (The Three Musketeers and The Count of Monte Cristo), Thomas-Alexandre Dumas.  I mention it here because, after having read the book, I recognized that Dumas regarded his father in much the same way that I regard mine.  It is a worthwhile read...