The Greatest Month of March
As the last days of March wind down I feel compelled to tell this story. Some say it was the greatest month of March ever. I, for one, have to agree.
This March Madness was my greatest one to date. It was a year filled with so much pain, so much agony after the tragedy of Hurricane Katrina. My Grandmother, a resident of the Lower 9th ward in New Orleans now living in New Jersey with my mother, had lost her entire house. A house she lived in for 52 years floated away, never to be inhabited again.
As a child born in Houston, raised in New Orleans until I was 11 years old, I felt an immense and intense sadness after watching for days what happened in my home state. Grandmothers, uncles, cousins, aunts, friends all displaced by the power of Mother Nature. Some are now in Houston, some in Baton Rouge, others in Atlanta.
It was beginning to look like it may be the worst year of my life. I had played overseas basketball for the last five years and was contemplating retirement before the Hurricane hit. Now with my family members all in need and displaced the decision was easy. There was no way I could leave for 8 months like I had done every year for the last five years. I had played organized basketball every year for the last eighteen years. To say I struggled without hearing that ball bounce, without hearing that crowd roar, without picking up a man full court would be a tremendous understatement.
To cope with my loss, I sought out Hoopville. Someone had referred me to the site and I wanted get involved in writing. Basketball was still in me. What I didn’t know was that Hoopville would change my life forever.
After writing for a few months, I began to receive feed back on my articles from you the fans. Some good, some bad, but always important. Some said what they liked, some said what they didn’t, but I took in all in stride.
One day I would receive a message that would freeze me in my tracks.
It read: “URGENT FROM HOUSTON. MY NAME IS FATIMAH, I AM YOUR SISTER. PLEASE CALL ME BACK. HERE IS MY NUMBER. I WANT TO MEET MY BROTHER.”
I was frozen. Growing up I had one sister. Her name was Rasheedah. We grew up in New Orleans and New Jersey in the same house, went to the same high school and both won state basketball titles for our respective teams. Who was Fatimah?
I was raised by my mother, Deborah Celestand, and my father, Ernest Celestand. Although Ernest was not my biological father, I refused to call him my step father because he had raised me since I was only months old. I had never met my biological father. His name was Bilal. I had never even had a conversation with him, had never heard his voice. I never even thought about it. I was not bitter, I had a Father. Ernest was all I knew.
After about an hour of being nervous, I called Fatimah. She cried when I told her it was me. She told me that my father had told her all about me. She told me that she watched my games as a child when I was at Villanova; she told me that she even saw some Laker games. She told that my father even came to a Lakers-Rockets game when I was in the NBA.
She told me that my father was 6-4 and had played basketball at San Jose State. She told me that I had four other sisters named Ruqiah, Zaynab, Khadijah, and Clara. She told me that I had a brother named Jihad.
The feelings that I felt were unbelievable. There was shock, nervousness, curiosity and joy. I spoke to all my sisters and my brother that day. The next day I spoke to my father. We all spoke on the phone everyday until I went to visit them in Houston on March 12. This was real March Madness.
All my sisters were there to pick me up at the airport in Houston. I met my brother and father at the house later that night. I picked up the paper in H-town and filled out my NCAA tournament bracket. My youngest sister Khadijah, only 12 years old, asked me to explain to her the tournament brackets. She asked what the numbers by each team meant. She asked how I knew who was going to win. I told her I didn’t know, that it was an educated guess. I had UConn beating Duke in the final. March Madness always fools everyone.
Khadijah told me she was rooting for Texas. She along with my other sisters and my brother even watched some of the tournament games. They were reeled in by the excitement. We were jumping around the house after every buzzer-beater. They were like March Madness veterans, even though I don’t think my sisters had ever witnessed a game.
It was the greatest March ever. All the upsets, all the meaning. Louisiana State University has put both its men and women basketball teams in the Final Four. Only months after the biggest natural disaster in United States history, the Tigers from the state that was affected the most have a chance to do something special. Is it just a coincidence? Is it fate? Did it happen for a reason?
I happened to stumble upon Hoopville. I happened to start writing this year. The NBA All-Star game was in Houston this year, which caused my sister to think of me. She “Googled” me and found Hoopville, which in the end helped her find me. Is it a coincidence? Is it fate?
Yes, I admit I am cheering for LSU in both Final Fours. I am cheering for Tyrus Thomas and “Big Baby” to do some serious work in Indianapolis. I am a journalist, and I am supposed to be unbiased. Sorry, I am human. I have a soft spot in my heart for a warm story.
No, an NCAA championship won’t bring my Grandmothers house back. No, meeting my family now can not make up for 29 years. But, both can still warm up the souls of many and give those without hope something to believe in.
By the way, I don’t believe in coincidences.
It was the greatest March Madness ever. I will never forget the March of 2006. It will go down in my memory as the March when I met my family. The March in which George Mason, a No. 11 seed made the Final Four. The March in which not one No.1 seed made the Final Four (first time in 26 years). The March after Katrina, in which the people from Louisiana’s biggest and most prominent city were all separated. The March in which LSU would use basketball to temporarily reunite them.
The March in which the Madness became even bigger than basketball.
