The moments seem like snapshots today, fading memories of a forgotten time and a foreign person. But the ones he allows himself to remember, the ones he simply can’t forget, still surface from time to time. And they still sting.

The jealous and misguided high school teammates who cost him a chance at a state championship. The scandalous AAU coach who tried to sabotage the end of his high school career and jeopardize his future. The talking heads who questioned why a franchise would risk its future by drafting him No. 2 overall. The critics who called him soft.

Just when LaMarcus Aldridge seems ready to take down his guard, the walls shoot up. Just when he seems ready to let you in, he pulls away. Just when he seems ready to move on, the memories materialize. Some things, he can't forget.

“I’m so different, when (bad) things happen, I usually block it out,” Aldridge said. “That’s just how I am. I don’t want to let people’s negativity or any negative energy affect me. But the stuff I do remember — I think about it all the time. People who doubted me and said I wouldn’t make it. People who tried to hurt me growing up. It doesn’t matter because I’ve always shown that I’m going to be what I think I’m going to be. But I remember.”

Aldridge, who will play in his third All-Star Game this weekend, not only is etching his place as one of the best players in franchise history, he's also establishing himself as one of the best players in the NBA. He ranks seventh in the NBA in both scoring and rebounding, and he's averaging career highs in points (23.9 per game), rebounds (11.4) and assists (2.8). In his eighth season, he's never been more dominant, dependable or delightful to watch. But even more, he's never been a better captain. Beyond the gaudy statistics and MVP-like performances, what's made this season unique — for Aldridge and the Trail Blazers — is his evolution off the court.

Everybody can see the buttery jumper, the versatile defense, the unstoppable post moves on the left block. But it’s his growth behind the scenes, as a leader and a teammate, that has catapulted Aldridge to new heights and the Blazers to unexpected success. One of the best traits of this Blazers team is its chemistry, and Aldridge’s leadership has been a linchpin to its closeness.

"He's been a part of everything," All-Star teammate Damian Lillard said last month. "It kind of surprised me. Last year, I got to know him, but he was mostly to himself. This year, he's been a lot different. That's been a big part of the team and what we've been able to do."

Aldridge is vague about what has spearheaded his evolution. Maybe he forced things in the past. Maybe it’s simply a part of his “growth.”

But at the root of all of it, even if he doesn’t openly admit it, is this: Little by little, the Blazers’ most guarded and private person is letting down his walls and learning to trust.

• • •

Robert Allen is a storyteller. Sit down for a casual conversation in the game room of his house in suburban Dallas, next to the pictures and newspaper clippings of Aldridge hanging on the wall, and he'll talk your ear off for nearly two hours. His favorite topic is Aldridge, and his stories are endless.

There was the time Aldridge was in eighth grade and Allen invited him over to Seagoville High School for a game of one-on-one against one of Seagoville’s seniors. Allen, who coached Seagoville, had been bragging about Aldridge’s talent and was looking to humble one of his more cocky players. Aldridge showed up for the game ill-prepared, wearing jeans, and ended up losing by three or four points. Afterward, the senior was relentless, taunting Aldridge with a barrage of trash talk. Aldridge told him he’d see him next time.

“LaMarcus came back with his shorts the next day and beat the living daylights out of him.,” Allen said. “I mean he whooped him. Everybody was saying, ‘Ooooo, you lost to an eighth grader.’”

A year later, when Aldridge was a freshman at Seagoville, he showed up for the first day of basketball practice. At one point, Allen put the team through a scrimmage and he became enraged. Aldridge’s raw ability was apparent and awe-inspiring, but his effort left a lot to be desired. He was playing “so lackadaisical and soft it made me want to throw up,” Allen said. So Allen stopped practice, turned things over to his assistants, and took Aldridge out back to the track.

Allen had figured out that 34 laps around the track equaled 8.8 miles. He pulled up a chair, plopped down and told Aldridge to run. Allen charted every lap, and Aldridge ran them all. Didn’t once stop and walk. What’s more, Aldridge didn’t once show a hint of displeasure. Didn’t backtalk. Didn’t roll his eyes. Just ran. Allen was worried Aldridge would go home, tell his mother, Georgia, about the practice and ask to transfer.

Instead, Aldridge was the first one to show up to an open gym workout the next morning, arriving about 7 a.m. — before Allen.

“When he showed up that morning, I said to my assistant coaches, ‘This kid is special,’” Allen said. “Anybody that would run 8.8 miles and not show any anger or displeasure, I said, ‘This is a special kid.’ Right then and there, I knew.”

By his senior season, after some legendary head-to-head matchups against Chris Bosh — a fellow Dallas native and future NBA All-Star — Aldridge had blossomed into one of the best players in the United States. But it hadn’t always been easy. Seagoville is situated in an impoverished and crime-ridden neighborhood in Dallas. According to 2010 census data, 71.4 percent of the student body is economically disadvantaged and 70.9 percent are at academic risk.

By the time Aldridge had become a local basketball phenom, Georgia had kicked his father, Marvin, who was a heavy drinker, out of the house. Georgia and her youngest son lived in a trailer not too far from Seagoville, and though Georgia worked hard, times were tough. Once, their lights were shut off three weeks. Often, food was scarce. Also, countless people tried to latch on to Aldridge and his future stardom, including a seedy AAU coach who not only tried to pull Aldridge out of Seagoville, but also steer him away from his beloved University of Texas and toward another college the coach had ties with.

Fortunately, Aldridge had Allen. He and Georgia both grew up in the housing projects in West Dallas, and Allen only saw his father once in his life, so he knew what Aldridge was going through. He helped Aldridge and his mom wiggle away from the AAU coach, and he did what he could to instill discipline, character and faith into Aldridge. He also made sure he was well fed.

Allen, who last year retired from coaching, had a refrigerator and food closet in his office at Seagoville, and it was always loaded with food. Players were welcome to come and go as they liked, and Aldridge took advantage almost every day. Like clockwork, Aldridge would head to the coaching office at lunch, scarf down some food while he watched game film, and then get in a quick 15-or 20-minute workout before his afternoon classes. Sometimes, Aldridge would stop by after school for a quick bite, too. When times were lean at home, the meals were vital.

“He helped guide me through a really important time in my life,” Aldridge said, “of going from a boy to being a man.”

Outside the basketball offices, Aldridge was popular at Seagoville. He was voted a “class favorite” as a senior, and his laid-back demeanor, sweet disposition and attention to academics endeared him to the faculty.

But his popularity also spurred jealousy.

One teacher, Ms. Williams, ran a daycare attached to Seagoville, and she grew to worship Aldridge, who worked at the daycare supervising pre-kindergarten kids as part of an elective class. As Aldridge garnered more attention and recognition, Williams gloated like a proud aunt. She gathered every newspaper article and photo she could find and hung them on the walls of her classroom at the daycare. “They were everywhere,” Allen said. “It was like a shrine.”

One morning Williams walked into her class and her jaw dropped. The articles and pictures had been slashed up and vandalized. The class had video cameras, and when Allen and Williams reviewed the footage, they were stunned. Some of the vandals were Aldridge’s teammates.

It would not be the last time teammates caused Aldridge pain.

• • •

Later that year, with the Texas-bound Aldridge averaging 28.9 points and 13.4 rebounds per game, Seagoville reached the Class 4A Region II final. A win would advance the Dragons to the state tournament. The game, against Lincoln — and Bosh’s younger brother, Joel — was an epic back-and-forth tussle that went into overtime. Aldridge had one purpose that season — to lead Seagoville to the state championship game in Austin — and he looked like a man possessed that night. Despite playing with two stress fractures in his back, Aldridge made 16 of 18 shots and finished with 39 points, nine rebounds and six blocks.

But in crunch time, when Aldridge was most hungry, a perplexing thing happened — he never touched the ball. Over the final three-plus minutes, Allen kept calling clear-outs and post-ups for his star, but Aldridge’s teammates refused to pass him the ball. With four seconds left, Bosh snatched a rebound under the hoop and made a layup, lifting Lincoln to a 69-68 victory at Moody Coliseum on the campus of SMU.

Seagoville lost. Aldridge’s championship dreams were dead. The tears started as he walked off the court, and gushed in the postgame locker room.

“They froze him out,” Allen said of Aldridge’s teammates. “He was unstoppable and they froze him out. It really hurt me to see that and to see him cry like that. Because what he was basically saying was, ‘Guys, get on my back and ride me all the way to Austin.’ He asked me, he said, ‘Coach, why?’ I said, ‘LaMarcus, it’s because a lot of people are sick with jealousy.’ I said, ‘You’re going to face this in your life again. But hopefully you’ll know how to deal with it because of this experience.’”

Words cannot do justice to how moments like this shape a person. Aldridge had dealt with plenty of seedy characters as he grew into a basketball star. But these were Aldridge’s teammates. His brothers. Memories like this can scar you forever.

“It just makes you not trust anyone,” Aldridge said. “You just get used to expecting bad things out of people. Those moments just got me ready for other moments I dealt with later in my life, of people being jealous and things like that. It definitely hurt because my whole goal was to end my legacy by going to the state championship. And I was really dialed in to get there. It definitely hurt. But at the end of the day, I always look at the big picture. They tried to hurt me, but I led the whole District 4A in scoring, rebounding and blocked shots. So you can try to hurt me, but still, I’m going to prevail from all of this hate that you’re trying to throw at me, and I’m going to go to college and I’m going to be great.”

It seems almost laughable to wonder why Aldridge keeps such a tight circle and is naturally distrusting.

“It’s because of the experiences you just heard,” he said. “Just going through experiences where people might have tried to hurt you or do something bad toward you or maybe not cared about your best interests. Dealing with people with ulterior motives of wanting things for themselves and not for me. It just shows you how bad this world is.”

• • •

His Blazers teammates say they’ve seen a different side of Aldridge this season. He’s more apt to strike up a conversation, rather than merely participate in one. He’s more likely to hang around the practice facility with the team to eat lunch and talk. Aldridge, who has always been eager to tell a joke and crack a smile, was never a bad teammate. But he’s more engaged this season. More determined to lead. More willing to trust.

Why open up now?

Perhaps it’s because he’s finally comfortable with his status as a franchise cornerstone. When you go to your general manger and ask for a defensive-minded starting center and a deeper bench, as Aldridge did last summer, and he gives it to you, it has to fuel your confidence. Perhaps it’s just this group of guys and this coaching staff, whose closeness and chemistry has created a unique trust and togetherness. Perhaps it’s learning to let go of some old memories.

“I feel like I’m a very strong person going through some of those hard times,” Aldridge said. “People would probably like me if I was more friendly or open, and they would be like, ‘Oh my God, he’s so great, he’s mayor of the city.’ ”

Aldridge laughed, then continued.

“But I’m not that guy. I’ve grown to trust my teammates more, definitely on the court. We all have trusted each other. So I’ve definitely grown to trust them more to a certain point.”

-- Joe Freeman