MINNEAPOLIS — Mark Graves sat in his car in the parking lot at Phelps Park in south Minneapolis on a recent afternoon, looking out at an empty basketball court, one that normally would be bustling with activity.
“I’ve never seen anything like this,” he marveled.
Now in his 18th year as a director for the Southside Village branch of the Boys and Girls Clubs of the Twin Cities, and his 30th overall with the clubs, there is little Graves hasn’t seen.
Whether it be a hand up, a pat on the back or a friendly word, Graves has been there for countless kids with family issues or school problems — a rock in a stream of worry.
But this, this is different.
The closure of city parks, schools, community centers and other traditional gathering places for thousands of young athletes and kids in response to the coronavirus pandemic has befuddled even old hands such as Graves.
“I’ve seen different hardships from families, helped them through different tragedies. I have lost kids through gang violence. This is the biggest thing I’ve ever seen,” said Graves, his normally confident tone tinged with concern. “There’s confusion around what’s going on right now. It’s kind of devastating to these kids. A lot of them have no clue what’s going on. It’s hard to take.”
For many city kids, schools, parks and clubs are havens. Places to meet up with friends, get a bite to eat, hang out, do something constructive. For much of the past two months, they have been off limits, their sanctuaries chained. Most visibly, after a first wave of park closures in Minneapolis, basketball rims were removed or padlocked to further curb urges to gather.
“I don’t think they fully understand it,” said TJ Valtierra, a program director for the Little Earth branch of Boys and Girls Clubs. “For many of these kids, they come from disadvantaged places. The (turmoil) caused by this pandemic is a kind of a way of life. They’re used to sudden deaths and sicknesses and tragedies. Now things like sports and athletics, which for many of them is the best thing in their lives, are closed down. It’s hard to process.”
ON weekend nights when basketball wasn’t in season, C.J. Brown usually could be found in the Farview Park gym on Minneapolis’ north side, taking advantage of teen night.
It was where he would go to both remember and forget, to lose himself on a basketball court, the way he and his father would before his dad died unexpectedly last fall.
“It’s been hard, to be honest,” said Brown, a shooting guard for the Minneapolis North basketball team and a tight end and middle linebacker for the Polars football team. “At home, I’ll be thinking about the memories of what we would do — probably going to a gym or working out.”
Brown splits his time between his mother’s townhome in the northern suburbs and his sister’s home in north Minneapolis. While most of his life exists in Minneapolis, he has found he is spending more time with his mom, largely because of an available basketball hoop at the complex. It’s a precious commodity.
“Social distancing has been challenging for a lot of athletes,” Brown said. “Not being in class, not being able to live your life. That’s kind of hard.”
The limitations haven’t been all bad, however. Brown said that living with his mother, which “didn’t work” when he was growing up, has helped them grow closer.
“Being in the house together, having long conversations with her, it’s helped a lot,” Brown said.
