When a writer is at a loss for words, you know something magical, meaningful, and surreal has occurred. When I heard Rez Ball had won a Boston Globe–Horn Book Honor, I had to pinch myself. As a kid from a small reservation in rural northern Minnesota, things of this nature seemed impossible for me.
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When a writer is at a loss for words, you know something magical, meaningful, and surreal has occurred. When I heard Rez Ball had won a Boston Globe–Horn Book Honor, I had to pinch myself. As a kid from a small reservation in rural northern Minnesota, things of this nature seemed impossible for me.
Rez Ball was written from fond memories of playing high school basketball. I wanted to convey the joy of hitting shots in front of packed gymnasiums filled with supportive fans from my reservation. My basketball team was a beautiful distraction from the tough, cold, dark winter months. We were something to cheer for, something to talk about, something to look forward to. Life on our reservation can be tough for a wide variety of reasons. But basketball had always brought us together and made us all smile no matter what we might be going through. As I wrote Rez Ball, I delved into more memories — some of love, some of pain. The excitement and the thrill of winning under bright lights in the biggest of moments. The crushing heartbreak of losing the final game.
For a long time, I felt as though I had let my family, friends, teammates, and community down when we lost the state tournament. That disappointment and frustration lingered. It was a weight that held me down. More loss and failure followed. Dreams that I chased fell apart. My community was devastated by a school shooting. Some of my best friends and I faced challenges with drugs and alcohol. Cancer stole my father and my nephew, who was an up-and-coming basketball star.
There was a point in my life when I began to believe that I wouldn’t ever win at anything. But basketball reminded me that life isn’t about the final score, it’s about how we choose to face the battle within. My younger sister and my niece were both versions of Rez Ball’s main character, Tre Brun. In the middle of a school year, in the heart of their basketball seasons, they battled grief while staying in school and working hard, all the while continuing to shine on the basketball court.
I cheered as they splashed deep three-pointers and made flashy no-look passes. But in my heart is where I cheered the loudest. I was in awe of their strength, their bravery, their courage. Watching my family and reservation cope with loss and grief by playing a game and cheering for one another inspired me to write Rez Ball. It inspired me to believe in myself again. It made me chase my dreams with courage and excitement, unafraid of the final score. Rez Ball is a love letter to my family, my teammates, and my reservation. It is a shout-out to all communities where hoop dreams carry us above the rim and lift us off the court when we need it most.
[Read Horn Book reviews of the 2024 BGHB Fiction winners.]
The Boston Globe–Horn Book Honor is the achievement of a lifetime for me. And it’s a testament to how a game, or a book, can show us how losing humbles us, teaches us, strengthens us, and inevitably gives us the deepest appreciation of a win. From the bottom of my heart, thank you.
Miigwech.
From the January/February 2025 issue of The Horn Book Magazine. For more on the 2024 Boston Globe–Horn Book Awards, click on the tag BGHB24.
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