I'm Major Jackson and this is the Slowdown.

As the third string point guard on the St. Elizabeth's elementary basketball team, I sat

on the bench for almost all four quarters for most of the games.

This gave me a lot of time to imagine myself in a game or to think what I would do if

the ball were passed to me.

While the action was in play, guys zigzagging and setting up for the next shot, I pitch it

myself stealing the ball from an opponent, then dribbling the full length of the court

as I whizzed past defenders to then leap from the top of the key to the hoop for a monster

slam dunk.

All of this impossible because in sixth grade, I was only five two.

My rich fantasy life or what some call daydreaming was the crux of my private entertainment, how

I used time.

As a teenager, I transported myself to Wimbledon for tennis matches against John McEnroe, or

to the Autobahn for a test run of a luxury car not yet on the market.

Driving alongside a mountain during a family vacation, I'd see a hairy, mythic giant,

approach a ridge and step over as though it were a fence, one foot at a time and walked

towards the car.

Sitting in my head was a training ground for riding poetry.

My leaps to fantasy land were never elaborate or driven by a need to escape daily life.

I simply thought in 3D, so to speak.

What I most wanted, or what I long to understand in theory, I made it appear mentally.

It was real to me.

...