Even the best of intentions...

For most of May and the start of June, I spent my afternoons doing respite with a teenage boy who has a developmental disability. He was very high functioning and very active, so we got to do lots of fun stuff together. One of his favourite things to do, though, was play basketball, so I made sure that our last day together would involve playing some of his favourite sport.

Now, when I first started working with him I went out and bought a cheap basketball and pump as he was visiting from a different country and didn't have one with him. The basketball definitely didn't hold air all that well and needed to be touched up a few times when we used it, but that's what the pump was for, right? So on his last day, we headed down to his local basketball court and got set up. I checked the ball, and sure enough it needed to be refilled a bit. I put the pump in and had the client do most of the refilling. After he finished though, I checked it again and thought, It could use just a little bit more air. It turned out to be a bad decision. Two pumps in the needle breaks straight off, still in the basketball and now spewing air in the wrong direction.

I wish I had a picture of my face in that moment. Panic set in because I knew I had to fix this quickly but I didn't know how. My client was staring at me, probably trying to figure out why I didn't just give him the basketball already. He came over and grabbed it, causing air to rush out even faster than before. At this point he seemed to figure out was was going on, so he grabbed the rest of the pump and tried to just stick it back on the needle. Of course it didn't work, but it did give me an idea. Maybe if I managed to get some more air back into the basketball and then pushed the needle into it so it stopped leaking air....it wouldn't be perfect, but I was out of other options. I took the pump and ball back, lined them up, and two pumps in the handle breaks off in my hand. My client's shoulders drooped, and he called my name in a tone that just screamed "what are you doing to my basketball."

The ball had taken on a sad, dejected look, as if it had already given up on me. I wanted to fix this, I really did, but I was out of options. I made one last effort to push the needle into the ball, and even that didn't work. Defeated, I sheepishly returned the ball to the client. He attempted to dribble it, and it just smacked flatly onto the ground. We still managed to shoot a few hoops and have a good time, but every dull thud when it landed brought a new wave of embarrassment.

Really, who put me in charge?