matter the challenge. It wasn’t always easy, but at least I tried. Some days I didn’t do so well. The cab driver in the car next to mine blew his horn and shouted profanity to someone in the car in front of him. Loud horns sounded throughout the city as people made their way to wherever their destination was. The carin front of me stalled, and just as I put my blinker on to go around him, cars began to pile up in the lane next to mine. It seemed there was no way out, and if traffic didn’t start moving soon, I’d be late for school.
Being late for drama class was unacceptable. Harold Winters, my instructor, made it very clear that attendance and grades determined which roles you received in certain productions. The slackers almost always ended up being understudies. I wasn’t interested in being anyone’s understudy. I wanted the lead. I took acting seriously, especially since I had something to prove to my father. There was no time for half stepping. I had to make him believe that his only son hadn’t become soft. That acting didn’t make me any less of a man. In fact, it brought out the best in me. I could act just as well—maybe even better—than I could play basketball. I needed for him to respect my choice.
Finally pulling into the school’s parking lot, I stopped at the security gate and let my window down.
“Where’s your parking pass?” the heavy female security guard asked.
“Um…I…” I pretended to search for it in my wallet.
“You won’t find it in your wallet. It’s too big to fit in there. It goes on the dash of your car.” Her dark brown face frowned at me. She looked as if she might actually be pretty if she took the time to apply a little makeup, curl her hair and possibly lose a few pounds.
“I must’ve forgotten to get it.” I gave her that awardwinning smile that usually charmed women. “It’s probably at the house…”
“Well, I would suggest you go back to the house and get it,” she said, “’cause you can’t park here without it.”
Did she have to be so mean? I wondered what she would look like if she smiled. She obviously didn’t know who I was. My father was a local celebrity—a sportscaster for a major New York radio station. He had his own show between the hours of six and eight in the morning, Monday through Friday. And he’d made guest appearances on ESPN’s SportsCenter . He’d interviewed Eddy Curry, Amar’e Stoudemire and other great Knicks basketball players over the years.
“I know…you probably don’t know who I am. I am the son of New York’s very own morning sportscaster, Big ‘D’ Bishop. If you look at the tag on the front of the car, it says BISHOP 2. This one’s mine. He drives the Lexus…the lucky dog. He’s BISHOP 1…”
She took a look at the tag on the front of the car, as if she was really considering what I’d just said.
“Does your father also attend Premiere High School?”
“No, ma’am.”
“Then why do I care what car he drives and what his tag says?” She frowned again. “Now, what I need for you to do is turn this little car around…go back home and find your parking pass.”
“Can you let me go just this one time?”
“No can do,” she stated. “Now, if you don’t mind…there are others behind you.”
I took a glance into my rearview mirror, and sure enough, there were four cars behind me waiting to get into the parking lot. They started blowing their horns. I did just as the security officer asked me to do and turned the car around. I didn’t have a parking pass at the house. There was no need for one. Actually, there was no need for me to drive to school at all. I circled the block a few times, in search of a parking meter; somewhere I could park for a few hours until I figured something else out. I finally found an empty space and parallel-parked in between two cars. I stepped out of the car and dug deep into my pockets in search of spare change. I filled the meter with enough change for
Being late for drama class was unacceptable. Harold Winters, my instructor, made it very clear that attendance and grades determined which roles you received in certain productions. The slackers almost always ended up being understudies. I wasn’t interested in being anyone’s understudy. I wanted the lead. I took acting seriously, especially since I had something to prove to my father. There was no time for half stepping. I had to make him believe that his only son hadn’t become soft. That acting didn’t make me any less of a man. In fact, it brought out the best in me. I could act just as well—maybe even better—than I could play basketball. I needed for him to respect my choice.
Finally pulling into the school’s parking lot, I stopped at the security gate and let my window down.
“Where’s your parking pass?” the heavy female security guard asked.
“Um…I…” I pretended to search for it in my wallet.
“You won’t find it in your wallet. It’s too big to fit in there. It goes on the dash of your car.” Her dark brown face frowned at me. She looked as if she might actually be pretty if she took the time to apply a little makeup, curl her hair and possibly lose a few pounds.
“I must’ve forgotten to get it.” I gave her that awardwinning smile that usually charmed women. “It’s probably at the house…”
“Well, I would suggest you go back to the house and get it,” she said, “’cause you can’t park here without it.”
Did she have to be so mean? I wondered what she would look like if she smiled. She obviously didn’t know who I was. My father was a local celebrity—a sportscaster for a major New York radio station. He had his own show between the hours of six and eight in the morning, Monday through Friday. And he’d made guest appearances on ESPN’s SportsCenter . He’d interviewed Eddy Curry, Amar’e Stoudemire and other great Knicks basketball players over the years.
“I know…you probably don’t know who I am. I am the son of New York’s very own morning sportscaster, Big ‘D’ Bishop. If you look at the tag on the front of the car, it says BISHOP 2. This one’s mine. He drives the Lexus…the lucky dog. He’s BISHOP 1…”
She took a look at the tag on the front of the car, as if she was really considering what I’d just said.
“Does your father also attend Premiere High School?”
“No, ma’am.”
“Then why do I care what car he drives and what his tag says?” She frowned again. “Now, what I need for you to do is turn this little car around…go back home and find your parking pass.”
“Can you let me go just this one time?”
“No can do,” she stated. “Now, if you don’t mind…there are others behind you.”
I took a glance into my rearview mirror, and sure enough, there were four cars behind me waiting to get into the parking lot. They started blowing their horns. I did just as the security officer asked me to do and turned the car around. I didn’t have a parking pass at the house. There was no need for one. Actually, there was no need for me to drive to school at all. I circled the block a few times, in search of a parking meter; somewhere I could park for a few hours until I figured something else out. I finally found an empty space and parallel-parked in between two cars. I stepped out of the car and dug deep into my pockets in search of spare change. I filled the meter with enough change for
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