Truly proud of my jumpshot.  In seventh grade, barely a few months in the US, I learned to shoot three-pointers by mistakenly thinking they were free throws.  

Hundreds of thousands of shots.  In the sun, rain, wind, snow.  And the real secret – when I was crying.  How easy it was to make them when I was not.

The jumpshot took me everywhere.  The inner city – where I played with gang members, Indiana – the home of basketball, Minnesota – where I got talked to by a church deacon for playing too hard.  Even talked about it at my Chicago DA interview, where they grill you like no other (and it got me to the next round).  One time, someone got in my way, and I had to adjust – the ball went straight up, nearly grazed the ceiling of the gym, and went straight in  – all net.

Never afraid to unleash it.  The key to shooting is to keep on shooting even when cold.