Why Jeremy Lin Matters For My Black Son Who Can't Play Ball

It's Michael Jordan's birthday but as the mom of a tall, 11-year-old black boy, today I'm really feeling the “Linsanity”.

Let me explain: For years my son, Mr. O, has been in the 90th percentile for height. I only roll my eyes a teensy bit these days when folks look him up and down and say, “I bet he’s a killer on the basketball court.” 

Do these comments happen solely because he’s tall? Well, I live in the United States, a nation where black boys and their athletically superior bodies are supposed to dominate on the basketball court, so I know better. His height and skin color are what cause folks to infer that he’s the second coming of Jordan.

What amuses me about the assumption is that a. there will never be another Jordan, and b. Mr. O hasn’t scored a single basket this season—and the season’s almost over. In fact, I think he may have scored one or two points in his entire basketball playing history. 

Sometimes he gets rebounds and blocks shots, but most of the time, he’s simply having a good time, getting some exercise, and learning to be a team player—what any 11-year-old boy who really wants to be a marine biologist ought to be doing.  

By now my son has played long enough that most of the coaches know that when they bring “The Big O” on their team, they’re not getting a kid who will be making endless layups and three point shots.  I’m OK with that. I smile ear to ear through every game and cheer my heart out for him and his teammates. 

Real talk: I’m probably a little too happy that I have a black male child who so effortlessly goes against the stereotype of being a budding basketball star. I admit I’ve focused more on cultivating a nerd than an athlete. And, if I’m going to have a conversation with Mr. O about where he needs to put in work and step up his game, that conversation is going to focus on academics, not on sports. 

So, what does all this have to do with Linsanity? Well, I live in a fairly diverse neighborhood and several times a week I get to see other kids who happen to be Korean, Japanese, Chinese and Filipino playing ball. Some are in the same boat ability-wise as Mr. O—but a few of them have some serious skills. 

What’s sad is that because of racial stereotyping, if I take one of the Asian American kids who’s really good at basketball and stick them next to my son, the average person will make racist assumptions about both. Black boys aren’t born with two basketballs in their scrotum and Asian boys don’t come out reciting Pi to 10 digits—but you know as well as I do that this is how our racist culture portrays both groups. My son will be perceived as the future basketball player and the Asian kid will be seen as the future marine biologist. 

Like so many other people out there, I hope Lin's success helps more folks stop determining what people can do—or should be doing—because of their racial or ethnic background. It's also nice to see how Lin's become a positive example for all the Asian American kids I see hooping every week—so many kids and their parents were talking about him at Mr. O's last game and their smiles and obvious pride were heartwarming. And, of course, it's  great for my sons—and all the other non-Asian kids—to see an adult Asian male doing something that is so opposite of the racial stereotype-based messages they get of what Asian men do. 

That's a lot of pressure to put on Lin—he's just a young man who should be able to enjoy his success and let that be that. Indeed, if he does nothing else, his story has proved a point. 

As for Mr. O, when it comes to basketball maybe he will be a late bloomer and have his own Cinderella story.  If he does, I'll be courtside, cheering harder than ever. After all, as Jeremy Lin has shown, it's more fun to root for the hero that no one saw coming.

photo via Wikimedia Commons