Josh Character Analysis

But, as I got older
and started getting game,
the name took on a new meaning.
And even though I wasn't into
all that jazz,
every time I'd score,
rebound,
or steal a ball,
Dad would jump up
smiling and screamin',
That's my boy out there.
Keep it funky, Filthy!

1. ever since I watched
the clip of Dad
posterizing
that seven-foot Croatian center
on ESPN's Best Dunks Ever;
soaring through the air—his
long twisted hair like wings
carrying him
high above
the rim—I knew
one day
I'd need
my own wings
to fly.

To get ready for the season, I went
to three summer camps. JB only went to
one. Said he didn't want to miss Bible school.

What does he think, I'm stupid? Ever since
Kim Bazemore kissed him in Sunday school,
he's been acting all religious,

thinking less and less about
basketball, and more and more about
GIRLS.

That boy is special, and it doesn't hurt
that Chuck "Da Man" Bell is his father.
And mine, too.

And while Dad is telling us another story
for the hundredth time, Mom removes the salt
from the table and JB goes to the buffet.
He brings back three packages
of duck sauce and a cup of wonton soup
and hands them all to me.
Dad pauses, and Mom looks at JB.
That was random, she says.
What, isn't that what you wanted, Filthy? JB asks.
And even though I never opened my mouth,
I say, Thanks,
because
it is.

And so each time
I count the locks
of hair
beneath my pillow
I end up with thirty-seven
plus one tear,
which never
adds up.

As in: I wonder why my dad
never had surgery
on his patellar tendinitis.

and even though I don't plan it,
I let him win
and get ready to practice
harder.

As in: Hypertension
can affect all types of people,
but you have a higher risk
if someone in your family
has had the disease.

As in: I think
my grandfather
died of hypertension?

I'm not paying attention
to anything he's saying
or to the dummy

because
I'm watching Jordan pass notes
to Miss Sweet Tea. And I
wonder what's in the notes.

On the way home
Dad asks if we should stop
at Pollard's.
I tell him I'm not hungry,
plus I have a lot of homework,
even though
I skipped lunch today
and finished my homework
during halftime.

Identical twins
are no different
from everyone else,
except we look and
sometimes sound
exactly alike.

JB comes running out of the bathroom.
What'd she say, Josh? Come on, tell me.

She said she likes me a lot, I tell him.
You mean she likes me a lot? he asks.

Yeah...
that's what I meant.

Ever seen an eagle soar?
So high, so fly.
Me and my wings are--
and that's when I remember:
MY. WINGS. ARE. GONE.

You're twins, not the same person.
But that doesn't mean he has to stop loving me.

I prefer to be called Josh, Dad.
Not Filthy.

Oh, really, Filthy? he laughs.
I'm serious, Dad--please don't call me
that name anymore.

Like heirloom.
As in: Dad treats his championship ring
like some kind of family heirloom
that we can't wear
until one of us becomes Da Man.

JB and I look out
the window
at the exact moment
we pass by the mall
and I know exactly
what JB wants.
Dad, can we stop
at that sneaker store
in the mall?
Yeah, Dad, can we? JB echoes.
And the word we
never sounded
sweeter.

As in: Dad's in a coma
because of a myocardial infarction,
which is the same thing
my grandfather died of.
So what does that mean for me
and JB?

Because the only thing that matters is swish.
Because our backboard is splintered.

On the forty-ninth shot,
I am only slightly aware
that I am moments from fifty.
The only thing that really matters
is that out here
in the driveway
shooting free throws
I feel closer to Dad.

You earned it, Filthy, he says,
sliding the ring on my finger.
My heart leaps
into my throat.

Dad's championship ring.
Between the bouncing
and sobbing, I whisper, Why?

I guess you Da Man now, Filthy, JB says.

And for the first time in my life
I don't want to be.

But, as I got older
and started getting game,
the name took on a new meaning.
And even though I wasn't into
all that jazz,
every time I'd score,
rebound,
or steal a ball,
Dad would jump up
smiling and screamin',
That's my boy out there.
Keep it funky, Filthy!

1. ever since I watched
the clip of Dad
posterizing
that seven-foot Croatian center
on ESPN's Best Dunks Ever;
soaring through the air—his
long twisted hair like wings
carrying him
high above
the rim—I knew
one day
I'd need
my own wings
to fly.

To get ready for the season, I went
to three summer camps. JB only went to
one. Said he didn't want to miss Bible school.

What does he think, I'm stupid? Ever since
Kim Bazemore kissed him in Sunday school,
he's been acting all religious,

thinking less and less about
basketball, and more and more about
GIRLS.

That boy is special, and it doesn't hurt
that Chuck "Da Man" Bell is his father.
And mine, too.

And while Dad is telling us another story
for the hundredth time, Mom removes the salt
from the table and JB goes to the buffet.
He brings back three packages
of duck sauce and a cup of wonton soup
and hands them all to me.
Dad pauses, and Mom looks at JB.
That was random, she says.
What, isn't that what you wanted, Filthy? JB asks.
And even though I never opened my mouth,
I say, Thanks,
because
it is.

And so each time
I count the locks
of hair
beneath my pillow
I end up with thirty-seven
plus one tear,
which never
adds up.

As in: I wonder why my dad
never had surgery
on his patellar tendinitis.

and even though I don't plan it,
I let him win
and get ready to practice
harder.

As in: Hypertension
can affect all types of people,
but you have a higher risk
if someone in your family
has had the disease.

As in: I think
my grandfather
died of hypertension?

I'm not paying attention
to anything he's saying
or to the dummy

because
I'm watching Jordan pass notes
to Miss Sweet Tea. And I
wonder what's in the notes.

On the way home
Dad asks if we should stop
at Pollard's.
I tell him I'm not hungry,
plus I have a lot of homework,
even though
I skipped lunch today
and finished my homework
during halftime.

Identical twins
are no different
from everyone else,
except we look and
sometimes sound
exactly alike.

JB comes running out of the bathroom.
What'd she say, Josh? Come on, tell me.

She said she likes me a lot, I tell him.
You mean she likes me a lot? he asks.

Yeah...
that's what I meant.

Ever seen an eagle soar?
So high, so fly.
Me and my wings are--
and that's when I remember:
MY. WINGS. ARE. GONE.

You're twins, not the same person.
But that doesn't mean he has to stop loving me.

I prefer to be called Josh, Dad.
Not Filthy.

Oh, really, Filthy? he laughs.
I'm serious, Dad--please don't call me
that name anymore.

Like heirloom.
As in: Dad treats his championship ring
like some kind of family heirloom
that we can't wear
until one of us becomes Da Man.

JB and I look out
the window
at the exact moment
we pass by the mall
and I know exactly
what JB wants.
Dad, can we stop
at that sneaker store
in the mall?
Yeah, Dad, can we? JB echoes.
And the word we
never sounded
sweeter.

As in: Dad's in a coma
because of a myocardial infarction,
which is the same thing
my grandfather died of.
So what does that mean for me
and JB?

Because the only thing that matters is swish.
Because our backboard is splintered.

On the forty-ninth shot,
I am only slightly aware
that I am moments from fifty.
The only thing that really matters
is that out here
in the driveway
shooting free throws
I feel closer to Dad.

You earned it, Filthy, he says,
sliding the ring on my finger.
My heart leaps
into my throat.

Dad's championship ring.
Between the bouncing
and sobbing, I whisper, Why?

I guess you Da Man now, Filthy, JB says.

And for the first time in my life
I don't want to be.