UN CURRÍCULO DESCOLONIZADO

By Jon Saraceno, USA TODAY, February 13, 2009

ORLANDO — The smile never vanishes, the laugh rarely fades.

Dwight Howard's delight is unmasked and real, filled with an understanding about whether he has a higher calling that transcends the sport and other worldly pursuits — or whether he just wants to be remembered as another pro basketball player.

No longer the sheltered, naïve teenager he was when he joined the NBA, the Orlando Magic star continues his metamorphosis. Howard, 23, plays with a joie de vivre rarely seen, making him an ambassador for a league in which laconic, self-absorbed players seem too commonplace. Consider the popular big fellow's conundrum: How many 6-11, 260-pound jam-it-in-your-face centers do fans see beaming regularly? They have rewarded Howard's great play and good- natured demeanor. He is the leading vote-getter for this year's All-Star Game, the first player to exceed 3 million votes.

"Denver was beating the hell out of him one night, and one of the Nuggets said, 'Tell that guy to quit smiling,' " Magic assistant Patrick Ewing says. "He is his own person and own personality. In a lot of ways, he's like a kid."

Howard is elevating his game, persona and maturity. In last season's All-Star Game, his

irrepressible spirit made him a favorite as he won his first dunk contest. Who can forget Howard, wearing a Superman T-shirt and flowing red cape, impossibly walking on air in pure Jordan-esque flight?

With Dwight David Howard, all things seem possible.

His joy for the game emanates not so much from his prodigious power game or from spring- loaded legs but from a reservoir of expanding self-awareness.

"I make sure I put a smile on somebody else's face," he says.

But even Clark Kent had another life — and Howard is beginning to realize that joy can sometimes be tempered with reality.

Last year, he became a father. The mother, Royce Reed, a former Magic dancer, and Howard share custody of their 15-month-old son, Braylon, he says.

The sudden news shocked many because Howard was quite vocal when he entered the league preaching a no-street image and the word of God. At the dunk contest two years ago, Howard slapped a sticker to the backboard with the phrase, "All things through Christ. Phil. 4:13."

"I was a little hurt about some of the decisions I made," he says. "I was kind of hurt about some of the things that were said about my character — what I said when I got into the league and what I did. Then I realized, 'I'm not perfect.' Even though the situation might have been a mistake, I got a blessing out of it. I would never take that back."

Before turning pro in 2004, the scope of his life largely had been limited to home, church, a private Christian school and AAU hoops. With the NBA lifestyle exerting more of an influence, "I was wondering who my son was becoming," says his father, Dwight Sr., a former Georgia state trooper.

"Something had to happen," he says. Braylon "was almost like a wake-up call. Dwight recognized, 'Hey, I stepped outside my boundaries.' "

Howard says he doesn't worry about his image because "I try to stay away from bad situations." "With the type of life we live, I'm real proud of myself for not letting the things of the world — the money, the fame — get to me," he says. "Every day, I think about how all this can be taken away."

Nevertheless, critics piled on — often in public forums such as blogs.

"People might say I'm Superman, but at the end of Superman is 'man.' I'm still human," he says. "I still have feelings. I don't fly to the moon at night. I sleep in a bed, see the same stars, breathe the same air. I said I can't read this anymore. Not only did it hurt me, it hurt the people around me."

Man-child

Howard is a walking, often soaring, paradoxical definition of man-child.

The man: tall, good-looking, a primordial force on the court. Likes to show off his "guns" with clingy pregame apparel. Not old school NBA Darryl Dawkins fear-inducing, but rather a supremely athletic, rim-rattling presence in the post.

Howard is enjoying his best season, leading the NBA in rebounding (14 a game) and double- doubles (40), while posting career-high averages in scoring (20.4), blocked shots (2.90) and rebounds.

The child: goofy, boyish and teenage-silly. Loves doing imitations of his coach, Stan Van Gundy. Gets a kick out of playing kids' games — including hide-and-seek in his $8 million mansion, which includes a fully stocked candy pantry with jars of M&Ms, Snickers, Pixie Stix and Skittles, his favorite.

"Got a wine cellar, but I don't drink," he says.

But he does drive home the notion that the Superman thing, he says, can apply to anyone because "there is a superhero in everyone."

In December, he visited ill children at a local hospital wearing a stethoscope and calling himself Dr. Giggles. The little boy in him instinctively took over when he met Jamal Mills, an 11-year-old with cystic fibrosis. They "boxed" on Nintendo Wii.

"I ask my friends, 'If you had one power, what would it be?' They wish they could fly or see into the future," he says. "I've always wanted to touch peoples' lives in a Midas-like way. I guess I wanted the ability to make everybody's life better."

Recently, while discussing President Obama's inauguration, which Howard attended, his eyes misted over as he recounted the day.

"I might be too emotional for a big guy," he says. "A lot of people say real men cry. But I'm this big ol'-shouldered dude and I get all emotional. When I first got into the league, I used to cry over losses. My teammates were like, 'It's OK, Dwight, we've got another game in two days, just relax.' "

Howard loves to cut up, tease and cavort, on and off the court. When the opposition is at the free throw line, Howard will cradle the ball and speak to it, appearing to put a hex on the shooter. He was more reserved in his first few seasons but then started showing up wearing various wild get-ups, once pretending to be the kung fu villain Sho'nuff from The Last Dragon. He once came to practice dressed like Tyrone Biggums, the funny-talking crack addict from Chappelle's Show. "Off the court, he's just one of the guys — and one of the goofiest," teammate Hedo Turkoglu

says. "He's grown a lot, too. At first, he didn't know how to act, where to act or when to act." Howard's breezy approach to life doesn't always air well with Van Gundy — particularly when it comes to the center's well-documented gastronomical disturbances during practice.

"I might be the most lactose-intolerant person in the world," Howard says. "I just love to have fun. It might be inappropriate, but I do it."

Van Gundy has banned Howard from passing anything but a basketball. Smiles too much?

Howard was spirited from high school to the NBA at 18 when he became the No. 1 overall pick in 2004. Even after a couple of years, the Magic remained perplexed regarding Howard's

personality.

"I used to fight him about it, told him he smiled too much," general manager Otis Smith says. "I thought maybe it was nerves. Then I realized this is who Dwight is. I mean, he's just a different kid. Anyone wants a picture or an autograph, he stops. I think he's trying to be a normal person and not a megastar. I think it's impossible, but he's trying."

Howard's practice playfulness vexed Van Gundy.

"That's the big thing for Dwight — to understand there's a time and a place," the coach says. "Even last year, he would still be foolin' around. We talked to him about it, and he's really changed."

A funny thing: One of Howard's on-court mentors is best remembered as a stoic, glowering figure. "I was all about business," Ewing says.

When they first met, Ewing, voted one of the 50 Greatest Players in league history, asked him, "What kind of player do you want to be?"

"The greatest," Howard said.

Ewing says Howard remains "very, very raw," particularly on offense, where he relies on hooks and dunks. "I had to concentrate on the game," Ewing says. "With him, it's totally different. When you have the athleticism he possesses, he can afford to do that because a lot of things come easily to him. But he still has a lot of development to do."

Clifford Ray, Howard's former big-man tutor, says, "He is nowhere near where he's going to be. "Sometimes, the game gets the best of him. He lets the referees take him out of it," says Ray, a Boston Celtics assistant coach. "You know, young people like when things are (easy). The last thing he will develop is that killer instinct."

In high school, he killed with his humor. Howard was no mere pedestrian class clown. "No, I was the school clown," he gently corrects.

"I was always trying to make people laugh. Even when the teacher was going off, I was always trying to ease the mood and calm everyone down. I might have been the silliest person ever." To this day, he loves dabbling in mischief, often with teammate Jameer Nelson. One of their favorite ruses is to pound on the doors of unsuspecting hotel guests and sprint away as if on a fast break.

"He's going to make you have fun, no matter what type of day you have," Nelson says. "When you see Dwight, you're going to have a good day."

His Van Gundy impersonation, mimicking a high-pitched voice, even makes the coach chuckle.

"Dwight, what are you doin'? Run, run — go! You're lollygaggin' around, trying to rebound with one hand! Stop tryin' to Eiffel Tower the ball!"

As Nelson observes, "Not too many people have the courage to imitate their coach." Being serious is "tough for me," Howard says.

"Basketball brings me a lot of joy. Just knowing that I'm alive, and I have a reason to be here, brings me joy. Basketball is one place where I know I can be myself. I'm most peaceful on a basketball floor."

His mother, Sheryl, who played basketball at Morris Brown College, suffered five miscarriages and lost seven children, including two sets of twins, before Dwight was born prematurely in 1985, joining his older sister, TaShanda.

Before his son's birth, his mother was so ill, "Doctors told us, 'Don't have a baby shower. Don't paint the room,' " Dwight Sr. says.

To this day, Dwight Jr. thinks hard about that.

"I was supposed to be number eight," he says softly. "My dad always told me that I was a blessing — that I was called upon to do something in life.