It’s that time of year again! I’m talking about March Madness when college basketball dominates the television. At least it often has in our home where three sports-loving males once resided.

Several times this season I’ve caught bits of televised basketball games with Kansas State and their coach, Bruce Weber. And each time he appears on the TV screen, I think back on the time he came to the detention center when he was coaching at the University of Illinois.

At detention we were fortunate to have various coaches, authors and other celebrity-types come speak to the students. They gave generously of their time to offer motivation to kids who were struggling.

Coach Weber’s presentation was much like others we’d had over the years. Warm and approachable, his casual delivery put the class at ease. His talk focused on the importance of hard work and dedication. He spoke of making good choices, and he included some anecdotes related to basketball.

Near the front of the classroom I noticed Jared, perched on the edge of his seat. A gregarious and chatty boy, he was one who typically needed frequent reminders to quiet. That day, however, his behavior made him almost unrecognizable. Totally transfixed, he sat in absolute silence, hanging on to every word the coach was uttering.

During the Q and A after the talk, I saw glimpses of the old Jared return. He raised his hand politely and asked a few questions, but he still appeared subdued compared to most days. 

When the presentation was over and the coach had gone, the classroom sprang to life. The students competed with one another for a chance to share their thoughts about the event.

“Whew! I was SO nervous at first when I saw him come in!” Jared exclaimed.

“Why?” we were all curious to know.

“Well, when I saw him, I thought I was going to have to try out for him!”

Oh, dear sweet boy!

I certainly hadn’t see that one coming! The notion that Bruce Weber would come to detention looking for talent to add to his team would not have occurred to me.  

Somehow, I managed to keep a straight face as I took in that precious boy. That round-faced, round-bodied young boy was—well, maybe 5 feet tall—but probably not. I’m pretty sure he wasn’t a member of his school’s basketball team. From his perspective, though, none of those things mattered in the moment.

Since that day, I’ve had other thoughts about Jared. Like so many young people, his mind was full of dreams and infinite possibilities. I think there’s a pureness in that, and it’s something most of us adults have relinquished as we’ve gone through life. Most likely, we lost it so gradually we never even noticed it was gone.

As adults, we can’t go back to that place, and I don’t think we’d want to. What we can do, however, is search for that middle ground. We can look for that place where we no longer default to “you could never do that.” Instead, we can challenge our personal notions of the realm of possibilities and then stretch its boundaries.

Like Jared, we can keep growing and dreaming. We can commit to putting ourselves out there as we reach for those dreams. We can have the courage to risk making ourselves vulnerable.

Amazing things are waiting for us if we’ll take the plunge to see what life has in store.