Sometimes it’s hard to figure out who Paul Wilson is.
He is, of course, Paul, his given first name.
He’s also Ja’maur, his middle name and the one he prefers to be called. It’s the name many students use and the one on Sycamore’s basketball roster, even though coach Tim Carlson calls his senior forward Paul.
And finally, he is Rico, a nickname he likes so much it’s tattooed on his right bicep.
This splintered identity seems altogether fitting for someone still trying to fit the pieces of his life into a workable whole.
Wilson lives in Sycamore with his grandmother, Mae Wilson. But his heart resides in Chicago, not only because his mother, Debra Wilson, lives there but also because that’s where he believes he belongs.
“I didn’t want to be in Sycamore,” said Wilson, who is African-American and has visited relatives in Chicago many times. “I like being around people who talk and look like me, where there’s common things we like to do.”
That feeling of alienation helped make Wilson indifferent about his classwork and life his first two years of high school. He wasn’t disruptive in class; he just did so little work he didn’t even stay eligible for basketball.
“He was very withdrawn, let’s put it like that,” his grandmother said.
Carlson, who had seen Wilson’s abundant potential in junior-high basketball games, tried to motivate the youngster to buckle down in class. He even gave Wilson a book bag so he wouldn’t lose books and papers.
“I threw it away,” Wilson said.
Wilson believed that if he messed up long enough his mother would finally let him join her in Chicago. But Debra Wilson feared that a kid who had spent his entire life in DeKalb County would be easy pickings in the city.
“I didn’t want to lose my kid to the streets,” she said.
By the spring of Wilson’s sophomore year, two truths finally dawned on him: He wasn’t moving to Chicago, and he was throwing away his life.
“I got older and saw things differently,” Wilson said. “I wanted to be someone and do stuff.”
So he enrolled in summer school, paid attention in class and did his homework. He also regained his athletic eligibility for good.
Last season he averaged 15 points and nine rebounds a game and was an all-Suburban Prairie Conference pick even though he missed several games because of illness and was playing his first organized basketball since 8th grade.
Last summer he proved he was still serious about school when he got a B-plus in an English course he didn’t have to take while juggling a job and basketball games.
Wednesday he scored 15 points in Sycamore’s 66-40 season-opening victory over Westminster Christian–even though he’s still recovering from a broken little finger on his shooting hand.
If this all sounds like a fairy-tale ending, it’s not–at least not yet.
Wilson still is not comfortable at Sycamore, where he is one of only about two dozen black students in an enrollment of almost 1,000. Most of his classmates have plenty of money in their pockets; Wilson has a tiny bedroom in the house he shares with his grandmother and three other relatives.
“Financially he can’t necessarily partake of some of the things kids in this community take for granted–new clothes all the time and vacations on spring break,” Carlson said. “He feels he does not fit in.”
Most Sycamore students also have two parents at home. Except for a trip to Mississippi a couple of years ago, Wilson hasn’t seen his father since he was a baby.
That makes it difficult when problems come up. Earlier this month, Wilson became despondent after a cousin was sentenced to a jail term.
“He’s a pretty sensitive kid, and he keeps so much bottled up,” said Carlson, who has had long talks with Wilson. “He always says, `I’m stressed.’
“His grandmother does a great job, but he has worries other kids don’t have.”
That makes basketball an even bigger blessing for the 6-foot-3-inch Wilson, who also likes to read, write poetry and check out Internet sites. Carlson believes Wilson will be an excellent college player once he polishes his ballhandling.
“He’s a great athlete and a great competitor,” Carlson said. “It’s just a matter of putting the skills with his athletic ability.”
Wilson dreams about playing at Georgetown or St. John’s, but his grade average, almost at C level now, still isn’t good enough to make him eligible as a freshman in a Division I program. So the letters from the likes of Illinois State and New Mexico State have slowed to a trickle, and he is resigned to spending a year at a prep school or two years in junior college.
Wilson regrets his mistakes but prefers to focus on how far he has come rather than on the distance he still must travel.
“I’m not down at all,” said Wilson, who turns 18 on Christmas. “The chance is still there to play Division I, and that’s my goal.
“I kind of look at it like I can get down on myself now or look at where I could be if I hadn’t changed.”
He owes that change to himself but also to his mother, his grandmother and Carlson, all of whom never stopped prodding him.
“Some kids are just bad kids, but Paul is a good kid,” Carlson said. “He just needed some guidance and a chance.”
Come graduation day this spring, Wilson will unveil one more identity. He plans to pick up his diploma sporting a shaved head, a symbol of a new start and, he hopes, a bright future.
“I’ve learned that if you have a dream, stick with it,” he said. “Who knows? It can happen.”
———-
Send e-mail to Barry Temkin at BarTem@aol.com
