MY Story

I remember these concrete slabs next to the trailers. They were poured so people could eventually build storage sheds.

We never had a shed.

Instead, I decided one of those concrete slabs would become my basketball court.

The only problem was...we didn't have the money for a basketball hoop.

So I got creative.

I built one.

It was makeshift.

A milk crate, some lumber, and a lot of imagination.

It wasn't pretty, and every now and then it would fall over.

But it worked.

As I got older, I realized how lucky I really was.

My Uncle Max—my mom's younger brother—took me under his wing. He'd bring me to pickup games all around Flint with guys twice my size and twice my age.

The same thing happened with my dad.

Mom and Dad were both just kids when I came into this world, and Dad and I are only twenty years apart in age. In many ways, we grew up together.

He'd pick me up and we'd drive around to open gyms playing against grown men. It was hard, physical basketball.

Looking back, I wouldn't trade those nights for anything.

Eventually Mom remarried and we moved into a house with a concrete driveway.

Our new stepdad put up a basketball hoop.

Jackpot.

I played basketball at all hours of the day and night.

It's all I knew.

And in many ways, it was all I had.

We moved...a lot.

Honestly, I don't even know how many schools I attended.

Too many to count.

I do know it ended with three different high schools in four years.

That wasn't much fun.

Friends came and went.

I never really found my comfort zone playing organized basketball.

My comfort zone was playground ball.

Pickup games.

Three-on-three tournaments.

Gus Macker.

Twenty-one.

If nothing else, I could always go outside and shoot baskets for hours.

Basketball was always there.

As I got older, especially after college, life happened.

Career.

Marriage.

Kids.

Somewhere along the way I lost touch with the game that had meant so much to me.

But basketball has a funny way of finding its way back into your life.

I started playing again with a great group of guys here in Northern Michigan, and I was reminded just how much I love this game.

Then I had the opportunity to coach.

That changed everything.

Somewhere along the way I realized basketball had become about a lot more than basketball.

It was about helping the next kid discover what the game had given me.

Seeing the game through the eyes of young players gave me a whole new appreciation for basketball. It wasn't just about competing anymore. It was about encouragement. Confidence. Teamwork. Watching kids grow—not just as players, but as people.

It reminded me of everything basketball had given me.

Not long ago, I drove back through that trailer park.

It was emotional.

As a little boy, it seemed enormous.

Now...

It seemed so small.

Many of the trailers were in rough shape.

There were more empty lots than occupied ones.

And those concrete slabs?

They're still there.

Standing there, I was reminded how lucky I was.

Not because we had money.

We didn't.

I was lucky because I had people who invested in me.

My mom.

My dad.

My uncle.

People who gave me opportunities.

People who believed in me.

I know not every kid has that.

So now I'm going to do what I can to give them an assist.

Milk Crate Basketball is simply my way of helping kids who want to play the game they love but may be missing the resources or support to do it.

Maybe it's a pair of basketball shoes.

Maybe it's a registration fee.

Maybe it's a basketball.

Maybe it's transportation to practice.

Maybe it's something else entirely.

If it helps keep a kid in the game, it's worth it.

Do I know exactly what I'm doing?

Of course not.

I didn't know what I was doing when I built that first milk crate basketball hoop all those years ago either.

But I figured it out.

And I'll figure this out, too.

If one more kid gets the chance to discover what basketball gave me...

Then every bit of this will have been worth it.

Here's to Giving Kids an Assist.

— Rod Call