Lil Bow Wow

There is something that must be known in order to begin to understand the workings of the madness in my brain: movies were quite cardinal throughout my childhood and early adulthood. Those who are completing their adolescence as young Castagnos still watch many movies. I still watch a fair share even though the place of my residence is no longer in Snoqualmie with my quirky parents. My dad considers sitting in front of the television an ideal bonding experience. Even when I drive out to visit, he gets feisty when we play cribbage because of the noise interruption. When new movies (and by new I do not mean recently released. For example, we had an infatuation with “3 Ninjas” when I was fifteen. I think that movie was made before my birth.) would come about we would watch them innumerably. And those movies are what we call Castagno Movies. I won’t ever forget the Slumdog Millionaire Christmas. We watched the film three times within the twenty four hours of the holiday.

With that being said, a few of us play basketball every Monday night. We play pretty competitively and I enjoy it very much. And every time I hear the word “basketball” I think of Lil Bow Wow’s song featured on “Like Mike;” you know, the movie about the orphan who gets magic shoes that give him professional skills.  “Like Mike” was a Castagno Movie. In fact, I have a sudden urge to snuggle up with my sisters and joyfully endure the entirety of that genius work of American entertainment.

I hope not to communicate that I’d prefer not to play basketball as it is a rich source of happiness in my life but there is a smidgen little part of me that has an itty-bitty amount of push back. First of all, my legs are so sore after having played tonight. I’ve not ever taken ibuprofen for achy muscles but the anti-inflammatory suddenly sounds delicious. Next, my back sweats like a dude's. And I am embarassed. Also, the intensity and competitiveness of the event takes a toll on my pursuit of femininity. I grew up being rather boyish because the tomboy phase was in (that’s what my mother told me). As I’ve learned to understand the gospel a bit more I’ve desired to leave the lifestyle of attempting masculinity and be a real lady as scripture tells me what beautiful womanhood looks like. It’s not as though the sport of basketball, in itself, makes me manly but the aggression and vitality to be victorious affects the weight of my questioning. Jake, one of my fellow basketballers, made a comment that Tayler, another lady player, and I could kill each other out there on that court. We do accidentally scratch one another sometimes since we're usually guarding each other. His remark sits at the bottom of my soul, chewing its way into my heart, making me cringe at the regard of the memory because oh, how I want to be attractive in my feminine appeal!
I suppose, however, that playing ball is not the ultimate guide of being a biblical woman. And we do all grow in understanding of each other as much is learned about each person because of reactions caused by the intense energy. Okay, bball is redeemed; I can keep playing. And because I love the intense work out with my friends I will certainly do so. Maybe if I get married one day I'll stop because it's weird when husband and wife play recreationally together. I'll hang out in the kitchen and have cookies ready when he comes home J