I have my parents to thank for that, they raised me to be active

Host:
The sunlight was clean and strong, stretching across the empty gymnasium floor, catching on the polished lines of the basketball court like ribbons of gold. The smell of rubber soles, sweat, and fresh air drifted faintly through the open doors where the world outside pulsed with morning — alive, bright, insistent.

A row of medals hung from a peg on the wall, their metallic faces gleaming like old memories. The sound of a bouncing ball echoed from somewhere unseen — steady, rhythmic, like a heartbeat practiced into habit.

At center court stood Jack, his grey eyes alert but calm, hands tucked into his pockets. There was an ease in his stance, the quiet kind that belongs to those who’ve fought for control and learned the balance between drive and rest.

Across from him, Jeeny sat on the bleachers, one foot bouncing lightly against the rung. Her brown eyes were wide and alive, watching the way the morning light danced across the wooden floor. In her lap sat a worn journal, its corners curled, a pen resting between her fingers.

She opened to a page and read softly, her voice carrying the clarity of memory and gratitude:

"I have my parents to thank for that, they raised me to be active and play all sports. They taught me the importance of staying healthy, being focused and setting goals in whatever I do." — Kiana Tom

Jeeny:
(smiling)
You can almost see it, can’t you? A backyard, a ball, a little girl with scraped knees and dreams too big for her sneakers.

Jack:
(nods slowly)
Yeah. It’s the kind of story that’s simple until you realize how rare it is — parents teaching not just rules, but rhythm.

Jeeny:
Rhythm?

Jack:
Yeah. The rhythm of persistence. The discipline to show up when the sun’s not shining.

Jeeny:
And the joy of moving — of feeling alive in your own body.

Jack:
Exactly. That’s something people forget — health isn’t vanity, it’s gratitude.

Jeeny:
(softly)
Gratitude for having the chance to move at all.

Host:
The ball bounced again in the distance — once, twice, then rolled to stillness. The sound echoed faintly through the open rafters, mixing with the hum of light and the whisper of wind brushing through the cracked doors.

Jeeny:
You know, when she says “set goals,” it doesn’t sound like ambition — it sounds like peace.

Jack:
Because her goals weren’t about proving something. They were about purpose.

Jeeny:
I like that distinction. Purpose lasts longer than victory.

Jack:
(pauses, thoughtful)
Her parents didn’t just raise her to be strong — they raised her to be grounded. That’s rarer than talent.

Jeeny:
And grounding comes from example, not lecture.

Jack:
(smiling faintly)
Exactly. Kids don’t learn what you tell them — they learn what you repeat.

Jeeny:
Like consistency disguised as love.

Jack:
Or love disguised as consistency.

Host:
The light shifted, climbing higher through the wide windows, painting long golden rectangles across the floor. The air shimmered slightly, alive with warmth — the kind of light that feels like possibility.

Jeeny:
You ever notice how people who grow up active carry it into everything else?

Jack:
Yeah. Because movement teaches momentum. You stop fearing resistance.

Jeeny:
And you learn that falling doesn’t mean failing — it’s just part of the game.

Jack:
(smiling)
Exactly. You get up faster because you’ve practiced it.

Jeeny:
You think that’s why she connects health and focus?

Jack:
Absolutely. A strong body trains a strong mind. They mirror each other — discipline in one bleeds into the other.

Jeeny:
And goals are just the map.

Jack:
Right. But discipline — that’s the engine.

Jeeny:
And joy is the fuel.

Jack:
(quietly)
Yeah. Without joy, you burn out. Without purpose, you forget why you started.

Host:
The sound of sneakers scuffed faintly from the other end of the gym — a young girl, hair tied back, shooting hoops alone. The ball arced high, kissed the rim, and fell through with a soft swish. Jeeny smiled, watching the easy repetition of youth, the innocence of effort.

Jeeny:
That’s what I love about her quote. It’s not flashy, not about success — it’s about foundation.

Jack:
The unseen part of every triumph.

Jeeny:
Exactly. People see the performance but forget the upbringing — the invisible scaffolding of values.

Jack:
(smiling)
The mornings you hated waking up. The push-ups before the reward. The lesson that no one claps for effort — but you still give it anyway.

Jeeny:
Because you’re not doing it for applause — you’re doing it for alignment.

Jack:
That’s wisdom most adults spend decades unlearning.

Jeeny:
Maybe that’s why gratitude like hers feels so rare — it’s not noisy. It’s balanced.

Jack:
Gratitude and ambition don’t cancel each other out. They just keep each other honest.

Host:
The clock above the scoreboard ticked quietly — a rhythm so steady it almost blended into silence. Outside, the sound of the day began — car engines, laughter, a lawn mower, all the small songs of life returning.

Jeeny:
You think her parents knew what they were really teaching her?

Jack:
(smiling)
Probably not. No one ever does. You just try to give what you didn’t have — and hope it lands right.

Jeeny:
But maybe it’s simpler than that. Maybe love, when consistent, just teaches itself.

Jack:
(pauses)
Yeah. Love disguised as repetition.

Jeeny:
The same lesson every morning — “show up, move your body, stay focused.”

Jack:
And maybe someday your child repeats it back to the world in their own way.

Jeeny:
Like she did — with grace and gratitude.

Host:
The girl on the court shot again. The ball spun through the air, missed, rolled across the floor, and came to rest at Jack’s feet. He picked it up slowly, felt its rough texture against his palms, then rolled it gently back toward her.

She smiled — that bright, uncomplicated smile of someone who hasn’t yet learned to doubt herself.

Jeeny:
(smiling softly)
You see that? That’s what her parents gave her. The courage to try again without fear.

Jack:
And the patience to know that growth takes time.

Jeeny:
Those are the gifts that don’t fade.

Jack:
They don’t age, either. They just evolve.

Jeeny:
(pauses)
And they become the blueprint for whoever’s watching next.

Jack:
That’s legacy. Not what you achieve — what you transfer.

Jeeny:
(smiling)
The relay race of love and discipline.

Jack:
And everyone’s baton looks a little different.

Host:
The sunlight filled the gym completely now, and the air shimmered with that distinct electricity that comes only at the beginning of something new. The ball bounced again — steady, alive, rhythmic.

Host:
And as the echoes faded, Kiana Tom’s words hung in the golden stillness — simple, honest, enduring:

That health is not a trend,
but a way of giving thanks to your own body.

That discipline is love in motion —
the daily act of choosing effort over ease.

That focus is the quiet art of aligning heart and habit.

And that the truest inheritance
is not money or fame,
but values — passed down
in repetition,
in encouragement,
in early mornings and endless games,
in the simple belief that effort
is its own form of joy.

The gym door creaked open.
The morning breeze drifted in.

And as Jack and Jeeny walked out into the sunlight,
the echo of the bouncing ball followed them —
steady, hopeful,
a rhythm that sounded
a lot like gratitude.