"F to the U, Old Man"

I've coached freshman football for four years, and like every other experience that forced me to reconcile myself with the world, it wasn't sought.  This year, in particular, forced me to acknowledge my entry to the final decade, or decades, of my life.  I've been forced to acknowledge that fear is still an excuse to hide what's beautiful in me.  Fear still preserves the solitude that insulates me from Love, and the fulfillment of genuine connection I deserve.   

I have had eight of these critical "decisions" intrude upon my adult life.  None were considered with sincerity before their appearance.  All have forced the acknowledgement of "truths" upon me that my intended path was designed to avoid.  Here's my list of them:

1. Getting married.
2. Fatherhood.
3. Choosing to be a Stay-at-Home-Dad for the 12 years generally considered one's "prime earning years".
4. Commuting from Long Beach to Santa Cruz on a frequent, and consistent, basis (with Aaron during his first year of life), so I could be present in my mother's cancer-imposed, last year of life.
5. The death of my mother.
6. Getting divorced.
7. Finally refusing to accept my siblings perceptions of the person I am as "The Absolute Truth", and leaving all of them, and their ultimatums, when they banned together in the habitual McAnerney dysfunction of dismissing an individual (either physically, emotionally, or both) who threatens the denial their identities were built upon.  We all did it. No shame around it, no judgment.  It's what rises organically in families like ours, and you see it replicated in family after family with a shared dynamic.  
8. Coaching freshman football, and participating in building a new community paradigm for evaluating relationships between limitations/achievements, and failure/success.  This years freshmen owe part of what they achieved to the expectation of it, that's woven itself through the fabric of our community.  And they owe the rest to themselves for doing the required work, and adding their link to the chain.

Each of those events forced me to choose between the fictional self-perception written by my birth family, or the authentic self-perceptions I've fought my whole life to preserve.  My whole family knows which is true.  Ironically, the knowledge of what's true perpetuates what's false.  I know this because one of my brothers broke rank, and told me, three years ago.  

We were at Winchell's, and I asked if he was aware that Dad used to beat me.  He said he did, and that he actually saw one happen through the space of a not-quite, closed door.  I asked him what he did after witnessing it. The honesty in his response healed a lifetime of seeking validation from people too weak to give it. 

 He said, "Pat, when I saw what he did to you I told myself I'd never allow it to happen to me."

So, I asked him how he did that.

"I did what everyone else in our family did.  I blamed everything on you."

And why'd you do that?

"Because you were the only one who wasn't afraid of him, Pat.  Because I knew no matter how badly he beat you, you'd still get up and tell him to f#*# off."

I thanked him for allowing me to keep my truth for once, and then to ease the pain he carried, I said, "You did the right thing."

He looked at me in shock, and told me the guilt of never talking to me about it literally made him ill,  and using me to protect himself, had damaged him to the core. He thanked me, sincerely, for not 'getting mad'.

I said if we had had this conversation a few years earlier I probably would have.  But I'd already had a couple of those accidental decisions made for me, and excavated the lessons buried within them. 

I said, Dude, when you're in a war zone you do whatever you can to survive it.  I said he was right about me being able to take what he gave.  He was right that I'd still get the last word in with "F You!!"  

And then I thanked him again.  I told him those beatings ate a hole in me for 40 years.  They left me confused, and eliminated a lot of what was accessible to me, in the world.  When they happened, all I felt was fear.  When they stopped, confusion. 

See, I felt like I was a good person, a beautiful person.  But then he'd come in and do that.  You don't do something like that unless the person deserves it.  I mean, how else can you find permission to do it?  And since no one who knew of it intervened, they must have thought I deserved it too. 

The whole thing was a set-up.

"What?  What was a set-up."

My childhood.  The whole f#*$ing thing was setting the awareness I had of myself against what the people who loved me were saying, and setting up the battle I'd have my entire life.

"Until this exact moment," I said.

"I was confused about a lot of things growing up.  But I never doubted how much I could handle, or that I'd have to die before I'd let you take what I KNEW was good in me."  

And if every thing I took kept you unscathed, I can feel like it was worth it.  

The entire conversation took about 15 minutes to have.  The preparation to have it, took 40 years.

So, you do the math: 

I've had family voices in my head for 50 years, reminding me I'm nothing special. 

And life keeps intervening with suggestions about what to do next, the most recent, of which, brought me here, to help build a football program on the philosophy that there are no limitations except the ones you agree to, or impose.  It brought me to a place where the philosophy is the exact opposite of the messages in my head, and gave me a role to play in developing it.

Then it brings in the best freshman class we've seen, and removes my job, so I'm right back where I started, battling my conflict.

But,

I have support.

I have time.

I have a group of boys who stand up to everyone who stands across from them, 

a group of boys who support each other.

And I have this ache in me that I've had FOREVER,

to just write everything down.

For the first time ever, I do.

And the same thing that always happens,

happens.

Words come out effortlessly, 

and in order, like what they're here to say

has been prearranged.

I just need to punch keys.

And re-examine my life,

and the fear in charge of it.

I need to examine the limitations in my life, and ask if I put them there.

I need to make a choice between alleviating insecurity with a traditional life trajectory,

Or waking up excited about the possibilities inside of me again.

If I don't, life will.

 

 

A Platypus is What's Leftover

                 Out of the 65 kids who came out for freshman football, only about 25 made sense.  You know, the boys who ran faster, jumped higher, smiled wider, talked cooler, got voted most likely to succeed, spoke Latin, and had three testicles.  The ones leftover from the Neanderthals.  The ones with surplus testosterone. 

The others, not so much.  Football is a difficult sport.  You practice 4 days for every 1 day you play.  You push your body past its physical limits, then place it in front of an opponent to have the stuffing removed.  You ask your brain to run at red line for ten weeks straight, and you ignore the injuries and aches.  There's really no reason to play football if you don't start, or see game time.  It's like 'Running with the Bulls' in their holding pen, after the rodeo has ended.

• Why play a sport that requires one  hundred hours of being used as a tackling dummy, and no 'stat' to prove you were good at it?
• Why play a sport that doesn't guarantee game time regardless of the sacrifice, or effort?
• Why play a sport where you're the underdog to everyone you line up against, and you know you'll never touch the ball, or hear your name announced? 
• Why play a sport you don't have any physical aptitude for?

I don't know.  I've struggled with those questions for years.  Every season brings a small, misguided group of boys to the sideline, where they stand for ten weeks.  They jump at any opportunity to be knocked around on Scout 'O' or Scout 'D', without ever really getting better.  They volunteer to stay late without expectations of being rewarded.  They don't ask to be put in when you're three scores ahead, and you're looking right at them.  Instead, they smile and say "I'm okay Coach.  I understand".

Why accept the discarded features of 'real' creatures to make a composite you call your own?  Why take the ducks bill, and the beaver tail, and the webbed feet, and the overgrown claws, and reptilian egg laying, and claim it's who you are?  What the hell's a platypus, anyway?

What do you understand?

And how can it be okay?

Maybe you understand that we're not created equal, despite the claim of our Constitution.

Maybe you understand that you don't have to be a star to have fun at this.

Maybe you understand that you're not real fast or real tough, and you don't need to be, if you're going to be a Neurologist.

Maybe you understand that even little, less talented bodies are fun to play in.

Maybe you understand that just being here with the guys, is pretty cool.

Maybe you understand it's not my fault that I can't see you, because you see me, perfectly.

Maybe you understand there's another position you play off the field, and you're all-county in it.

Maybe you understand that the only measurement of ability is the one you use to measure your own,

 against what it was when you started.

Maybe that's why it's okay.

And at least your not a platypus.  

  

            

Two Minute Warning

I'll be shutting this down soon.  After the CCS run. I anticipate 2 or 3 more posts.
Before I do I want to say thank you.

I'm still not sure why I started this, or what compelled me to write about this team, or season.  It was just clear I had to.  There is no rhyme or reason to a lot of what shapes the world, or who is granted a position of influence.  It's obvious, however, that certain people, or groups, attract attention through their ability to achieve what's been historically difficult, and do so in a manner that's inclusive of their audience.  

• It's the difference between Tom Cruise and every other 18 year-old of his generation as they graduate high school, and he rockets to stardom.  
• It's the difference between every wholesome, beautiful news reporter holding a microphone, and Katie Couric. 
•  It's the difference between every burnt out teacher and Christa McCauliffe just before we watch the space shuttle she's in explode.  Some lives are selected to teach, or provide example.  

The freshman football team of 2013, or specific individuals on it, seem to be on that path.

_________________________

When this began I had no plans to share it.  Then I decided to share it with the boys on the team.  No one else.  As I near the end, and my final words, this blog's been looked at almost 3,000 times.  I know the 45 adolescent boys who inspired it aren't interested in my observations of them.  So this blog has found an audience.  It's found an audience of anonymous readers.  

I have sought connection my entire life, and have failed to find it.  I've failed because I've been afraid to be honest.  I've had company, and acquaintance, when I've agreed to avoid being honest, and I've agreed to that to insure the comfort of others.  I've agreed to it to insure a place of belonging.  I've agreed to it because it was safe.  Watching this group of boys challenged my compromises.  Curbing my passion was the biggest.

  Life is so beautiful it hurts.

_____________________________

When Scott Russo asked me to help coach we barely knew each other.  I told him I would, as long as he understood "I'd never play to win".  I'd put the kids first.  I'll never forget his answer.  He said,

"That's exactly why I want you".

Scott Russo was the first Man who gave me permission to become the man I wanted.  He gave me permission to explore the aspects within me that went against what our culture traditionally valued in it's Fathers, and Husbands, and Hero's.  He gave me permission to heal.

Scott Russo is a good football coach.      He's a great man.        He leads with a perfect combination of Drill Instructor, and Mr. Rogers.  He leads you, and loves you, at once.  He also admits to needing help, and selects individuals who he trusts to provide it.  The success of our freshman program isn't due to a single person, it's due to a perfect compilation of a group of individuals.  Scott assembled his staff to fill in the vacancies of others, compliment what he values, stand against what he abhors, and always Love first.  He is the first to acknowledge when he acts out of character, and he's the first to request an end to it.  He did that frequently this year, while he found the balance this group required.  He found a way to redirect talent, and mend sensitive ego's, into a unified objective, and general respect.  That's not easy, ever.

_____________________________________________________________

My last few posts have been read by 350 individuals.  Each post has been met with a spike in readership.  That's a remarkable thing.  

I don't know who you are, but your interest in what I observe validated what I love inside me.  You told me, in an indirect way, that what I've protected, holds value.  If you read my words, you told me you could see past the frightened man I AM in the world, and into the truth of my original heart.  You told me what it contains is welcome.  

I don't need to hide what I'm most proud of  because you confirmed it in you.  That's a gift.  And I received it from strangers.  That's the best part.  One lady, who I don't know, sent me an email that said,  "I hope you keep writing, and that you keep me informed about where to find it.  You speak everything I feel.  PLEASE write a book." 

That's the connection I've sought.  That's the exposure.  I'm not the long hair, or the smile, or the fear, or the failure.  I'm the part that wants to be known, the part that sees a miracle in every life, and courage in every heart.  

I'm just a dude, trying to live his truth, before it's lost.  Thank you for letting me........

What's Earned is What's Owed

     I like when my perspective of something falls short of it's truth.  I like being reminded that my assumptions about  anything contribute to it's decay, if they're wrong. Mostly, I appreciate being reminded of both.  The beliefs I hold aren't inherently 'right' because I hold them, no matter the degree of conviction.  When I adhere to them too tightly, I deprive myself of connection. 

  I knew a lot of the boys before they arrived

 for summer workouts.  I had them all figured out. 

My perspective of each, and my assumption of them all,

 shaped my interactions,

and continued to until our second game. 

 That was our game against Archbishop Mitty, and our only loss.

I was aware, after that game, I'd been wrong.  There wasn't a single individual who thought he was above the others.  There wasn't anyone blaming anybody else.  There wasn't anyone disfigured by the loss.  This group of boys wasn't looking for excuses to hide behind.  And they were still a team. They had more maturity than I'd given them credit for, and they wanted to be accountable.  They didn't feel let down by one of their team mates.  You could see it on their faces.  You could hear it in their silence.  Each of them was willing to shoulder the burden as if they were the one who had brought it on. 

When you see something like that, you pay attention. You  refrain from unsolicited instruction, or explanations, because it's already whole.  The stillness that stood around it was a group acknowledgement that they all had more they could have given.  And it was their agreement not to let it happen again. 

I've been thinking of something ever since.

There are boys on this team  with uncommon physical talent.  There are dozens of them, not just the two, or three, you expect.  There are a dozen more just starting to claim theirs. There are boys

on this team who possess genuine humility.  And there are undeniable leaders who have never said a word, boys who make their statement with their effort, and hold it to yours, when yours slips.  They're are boys who admit their fears, just before they turn, and run toward them.  There are boys here, who want their turn at being men.

When I look at this group I don't see football players.  I see the next community of men.  I see who I want as Husbands, and as Fathers.  I see who I trust to model what's  right, and what's good, to those raging against it.  I see who I want as leaders in my community, and who I want as a friend. 

Consider this....

• The JV football team took a vested interest in our team, when their predictions of a losing season were wrong.  They weren't watching, so much as studying.  The JV players usually aren't far off when evaluating an opponent, but they missed completely with us.  Whatever slipped passed them wasn't able to be seen, so they watched until they saw it emerge. 
• Varsity paid a similar respect.  Individuals participated in our practices, and helped with observations, and advice.  They demanded detailed accounts on how he played, or him, and him.  Varsity players don't invest in freshmen, period.  Unless the freshman are Rock stars, too.
• And I've been deeply affected.  This blog is my tribute to this team.

Remember: 

• Opportunities like this aren't common, and they rarely present themselves.  If it's put in front of you, take it.  
• Do the work required to develop the talent.  If you don't, you'll fall to those who do.
• Get honest with yourself about what you are willing to do, and what you are capable of doing.  It's alright to choose not to.  It's the difference between those who fall within what's ordinary, and those who soar above it.  You have to be an uncommon man to do uncommon things.  Before you make your choice, remember this:  Every player on our Freshman team was vital to our success, and whether it's coincidence or not, you are all here, together.  And this group didn't have to seek an opportunity to be known, it was delivered

7 year-old brain cancer patient with Nebraska: WATCH!!

_________________________________________________

Which leads me to what's been brewing since Archbishop Mitty.  The only way to truly appreciate your talent, and ability, is helping someone at the other end of the spectrum.  We've talked about a 'responsibility to talent'. 

It's not entrusted to everyone, so if you have it you have an obligation to develop it.  That obligation comes with the opportunity to rise, and lead.    Your job IS to get to the mountain top, but not just for you.  When you get there you need to reach down, and help those who could never get there on their own, and pull them up.

You will always be at risk of taking your gifts for granted if you feel you were entitled to them, or that you earned them.  If you want to truly appreciate them, start spending time helping those without even the most simple ability, like walking.

Then ask yourself if that's what he was entitled to.

Ask yourself what it would be like to be left out of every activity that's provided you your best moments, and ask yourself if you could do anything to help.

Ask yourself if you'd like to help someone know how you feel  on the field, in front of a crowd and ask if you can provide that.  Ask yourself how grateful you'd be for your ability, and how hard you'll run now, now that you're running for two,  And ask yourself what is more rewarding, winning a game, or helping someone feel acknowledged, and human.

Understand?

Then, when you've answered those questions, go do it...

Ww

"GOD held to 8 Points By Aptos Defense"

               

During halftime of the North Salinas game I was sitting under a tree on a slope behind the scoreboard.  The North Salinas players gathered in the end-zone beneath me, so the coach could address them.  The first thing he said was "We knew this wouldn't be easy", and followed it with "Aptos is a good football team".  The kids didn't respond. So the coach said something I didn't expect to hear.  He said "Boys, Aptos knows they're staring into the face of GOD right now, and they're scared".

A quick  analysis:  The North Salinas team is "God", and Aptos is "just as shocked by their lead, as we are".

Excuse me, but.....  WHAT?!!  

     (*I am  NOT a religious scholar.  I am not a prophet, or a priest, or a Fabio, or a  Jesus.  I have

never read the Bible, and I only attend church when I'm desperate.  I do not support any religion, nor do I doubt them.  I'm as unqualified to speak of God as anyone.  Take that into consideration as we proceed.
     Having said that, I'm a believer.  I KNOW there's something bigger than any of us, out there.  "God" is just our name for it.
     I can't explain what or who he is, and I can't tell you what he expects from me, or from us.  I can't tell you he's a Man.  And even though I can't prove his existence, I KNOW he's out there.  There have been too many serendipitous events in my life to doubt him.

There's one observation, above all else, that confirms for me, the existence of a conscious plan or intent, that guides everything.  It's this:  When Human Beings  confront events they can't control, they abandon Reason and Science, and turn to faith.  That's a big deal considering we point to our ability to Reason, and follow logic, as the clincher when placing ourselves at the top of the zoological charts.  We may exhaust those abilities before we agree to prayer, but prayer is what's left at the end.

We will, all of us, find it someday.

________________________________________________

Today children, we are going to discuss 'G-O-D', and his inability to pick one team, and stick with them.  Seriously, you can't have every team, and every player, pointing fingers at you every time they score, or sack someone.  Pick somebody already."

If Aptos was facing "God" in North Salinas, who were they facing in Aptos?  Oprah?  Obama? Jay-Z?  No.  They were facing their mirror image.  I think we confuse the intentions of God with our own.  We enter a stadium adorned in school colors, and sit on designated sides. We accuse referees of favoritism when calls don't go our way.  We make excuses, or blame others, when our children receive a substitute role, or never play at all.We see things as "them against us", and ignore the fact that "them" are exactly like us.  "Them" has worked all summer, just like us.  "Them" get penalties, just like us.  "Them" are learning and maturing and growing, just like us. "Them" are the children of parents full of hopes, and fears, just like us.  If circumstances arose that caused us to move, and go to "Them's" school, our allegiance would move with us. We all do it. We're all fickle.  God isn't.

God doesn't care who wins.  He doesn't care who scores a touchdown, or records a sack.  He wants every individual who agrees to the risks inherent in living, to get closer all of them.

to the vision held of who they are.  He wants that because he's the architect behind 

He doesn't care who points their finger upward, as long as everyone gets the opportunity.  He doesn't keep track of the score, either.  He sees two groups of individuals working together, through opposition, to dispense of the limitations placed on their talents and discover new depths of determination.  

     It's not about God at all.  It's about us.  Why do we require a winner, and loser, in everything we do?  Why do we celebrate the outcome, instead of the effort?  And why do we admire the most powerful among us for defeating those who are smaller?  Here's what I think.  I think God let's everyone point a finger in thanks, as a hint.   

We all know, deep down, that the outcome of any game means nothing in the grand scheme of things.  We beat you today, then you beat us tomorrow, then you beat us again the next day, then we beat you again.     If they teach us anything, they teach us that sometimes the team that should win, doesn't.  They teach us that sometimes all that preparation doesn't matter.  They teach us that sometimes the outcome of a game is determined by something impartial, like a gust of wind, or an ice storm.
They teach us about the uncertainty inherent in any outcome: A game. A marriage. An overture. A dream.  A decision. A life.
 'The Face of God?'                    

                                                        Really?

The  violence that arises, and the hatred that separates, and the disregard of empathy comes from us,   because we need it.  Outcomes will be required, until we don't.
 We cheer the superstar who wears our jersey, and throw beer bottles at him when he dons another.  We abandon the rules when we're losing, and poke and bite and pinch, then praise it as a 'gutsy', or a 'no quit' attitude.

Anyone who's competed has been in a situation where you know you're beat, where nothing's left but to acknowledge  your ass, over there, on a platter,  being garnished before it's handed to you.  Learning how to do that, with humility, is one of the best lessons learned from playing competitively, because we all lose occasionally. Even the best.  Yes, even the face of God himself, North Salinas.

The North Salinas coach missed that opportunity because of a  false premise most of us adhere to:  If you tell your team they're out-manned, they'll quit.  Maybe, but I doubt it.  The desire to know where they stand against that opponent won't fade, and the score will no longer be relevant, the effort will.

But if you tell your team that the opponent who is brutally dismissing you in a rout "fears" you like 'God', they won't buy it.  They won't buy it because it's their asses that are getting kicked.  They can feel it, touch it, taste it.

And because if they were God, they would have covered the spread.

       

I Am A Champion!

The boys who played freshman football this year made a statement.  They made it to coaches.  They made it to their fans.  They made it to their opponents.

Most importantly, they made it to themselves.

We told the boys during the summer, that we saw the talent in them for a CCS title.  Perhaps more.  And we told them that talent wouldn't be enough.  They took it to heart.  This group has a ridiculous amount of talent.  You saw that.  There are a lot of other boys whose talent is still maturing, or haven't built their football "I.Q.".  If they stick with this, they will, and when that happens, Good Night.

Out of the 10 schools we played, 8 qualified for CCS playoffs. They're good programs, and this team tore through them.  Here are the 8 teams and how they are ranked:

(Open Div/Best;  D-1/Largest Schools; D-2/smaller; D-3/smaller still (APTOS); D-4/smallest)

1. Terra Nova #1/Open Div.
2. Archbishop Mitty #5/Open Div.
3. Alvarez #1/D-1
4. Los Gatos #2/D-2
5. North Salinas #7/D-2
6. Christopher #4/D-3
7. Sacred Heart Prep #1/D-4
8. Monterey #7/D-4

If they gave titles to Freshman we'd have one.  They don't.  Whatever is accomplished on the field starts with what's accomplished in the weight room, during the off season.  Every school I listed is theirs already.

You know where you stand with every team in those brackets.  When we go Head-to-Head based on talent, we win.  If we go Head-to-Head on Heart, we win.  If we go Head-to-Head on toughness & teamwork , we win. 

But will we win the off-season?  Will you do more reps, and weight?  Will you drive yourself to exhaustion, or quit one rep early?  Will you quit when the pain spreads through you, or grit your teeth, and move through it?

It was an honor to be part of what you did.  Now go out and finish it.

Thank you....

Write your legacy.

"I AM A CHAMPION SPEECH'

Script

Today gentlemen, I am honored to coach you, more honored to take you onto the field of battle. There is another honor to be bestowed upon you, that is the answer that comes with that question
WHO AM I ? I'M A CHAMPION !
That's right and i need you to remember that all throughout this game,  i will conquer what has not been conquered
defeat will not be in my creed. I will belive what others have doubted. I will always andevor the prestige honor, and respect of my team. I have trained my mind and my body will follow
WHO AM I ? I'M A CHAMPION !
I will acknowledge the fact that my opponents do not expect me to win, but i will never surrender. Weakness will not be in my heart. I will look to my comrades, to those who have brought me into this world and thoses ho have trained me and i will draw strenght from them
WHO AM I ? I'M A CHAMPION !
I will gladly go out into the field of battle, and i will move, groove and do everything thaht I can do, and I will reach my field of battle by ane means at my disposal. And when I get there, I will arrive violently. I will rip the heart from my enemy and leave it bleeding on the ground, beacause he cannot stop me.
WHO AM I ? I'M A CHAMPION !
To my side I have comrades, comrades that have been with me throught thick and thin, throught sacrifice, throught blood, through sweat, through tears. Nver will I let them fall. Never will I let them down and I will never leave an enemy behind, beacause our opponent does not know my heart.
WHO AM I ? I'M A CHAMPION !
No one will deny me, no one will defy me, and no one will tell me who and what I am and can be. Belivef wil change my world, it has moved continents and countries, and put man on the moon, and il will carry me through this battle.
WHO AM I ? I'M A CHAMPION !
Defeat, retreat those are not in my words, I don't understant those definitions, I don't understant when things go wrong, I don't understand mistakes, but I do understand this: I understand victory, and I undertsand never surrendering. NO matter how bad things go, my heart and my mind will carry my body when my linbs are too weak
WHO AM I ? I'M A CHAMPION !
Today will be that day, not tomorrow, not next week, but right now, right here, in your house, and in your home
WHO AM I ? I'M A CHAMPION !
History will remember me, and I will not have to worry about him being kind. I will define myself. I will write my own praises. And non one will tell me what I can and cannot be. I will never go home, not without giving everythiong I have got
COZ WHO AM I ? I'M A CHAMPION !
WHO AM I ? I'M A CHAMPION !!!WHO AM I ? I'M A CHAMPION !!!!!

Vacating the Sideline

Last night was the final game of our freshman season.  We played North Salinas, arguably the best team we've seen all year.  We'd been telling the boys for weeks that they've had a great season, but this is the game it will be measured by.

     Looking at film on them revealed tough, fast backs who look for the sideline on almost every play.  A good defense.  A talented quarterback who could run through you, or throw over you, and receivers with more height, and more speed, than the boys we'd have covering them.  The boys covering them?  Coach Paul's son, Joey.  And my son, Aidan.  We prepared them all week, and cut ties.
     I knew I'd be a little late to the game.  I didn't know I'd choose to stay off the sideline, and watch it unfold from a hill overlooking the field.

I have been unemployed the entire season.  I made some choices that others in my situation might not have.  They are the right decisions for me.  I placed coaching Aidan at the top of my priorities, and all else below.  Employers don't like hearing that, and I get why, and I still don't care.  I am not, and never have been, "the Good Soldier".  I'm less concerned with those who think I'm irresponsible, or idiotic, than I am with teaching Aidan to use a football field as a window to himself.  I want that for him, more than I wanted it for his brothers.

I want this season, with him.

I want this one, more than any I've ever had (and I've been fortunate to have had a lot).

I want this one because it will be my last one as a Father, with his Son.  

When it's over, it's done, even if I never imagined it could be.  It's full of  shared moments from learning to play catch on the back lawn, to watching Aaron, and Ethan, shed boyhood skins, and take on the appearances of young men.  I am overflowing with gratitude for my three boys, and all the hours spent watching, and playing sports.

 I am also heavy with grief as one more thread that connects us, is cut.

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Aidan was 5 when his mom and I divorced, and I'd been a stay-at-home Dad during that time.  I was, without a doubt, the most consistent figure in his life up until the split.  And then, without warning, I wasn't.
 His brothers weren't much older, but they were old enough to help make the transition fluidly.  They went through their stuff, and have been dug in ever since.

Aidan was in a free fall from the beginning, and you could see it in everything he did.  He turned sad.  He wore confusion on his face about everything he'd previously trusted. You never had ask how he felt because he wore it openly.  He had no idea what had happened, and I didn't have anyway to explain it, or make it better.

One day, we were sitting quietly on the couch together. He was close to me, and leaned his shoulder against me just enough to touch.  His hands were folded delicately in his lap, like he no longer knew what to do with them. His head was bent down.  Then he turned, and looked at me.

  In the softest voice I've ever heard, he said, 'I miss you".

It wasn't said matter-of-fact, like a statement.  It was more like the confession you make when you know you can no longer help yourself.   It was heart-wrenching.   And it told me two things: 

• It told me I wouldn't be allowed to help heal the wound I created. 
• And it told me Aidan knew that.  He was frightened. Terrified. 

And I had to watch him, helplessly, go through it.  The image of him- hands folded, body sloped, bent head- is burned into my heart.  It pops up on occasion, and I snap forward, as if trying to shed a nightmare.

I still question whether there's been goodness in anything I've done.

I'm certain I've caused pain.   

The image of Aidan will go with me to the grave.

I'll spend every day until then, grateful for the privilege of Fatherhood. And I'll  regret that God trusted me with it, knowing the angst within me.  
  But I won't question it.  I trust that the path that unfolds before me is the one to walk on.  I trust the people who come into my life have come for a reason.  And I trust that the pain I've received, and inflicted, is not without purpose.   

Either Aidan needed it as preparation for where his life's leading, and who it's leading toward,

Or my education on the expansive depth, and weight, of emotional pain, isn't over.
I was the recipient of it as a child.  I've caused it as an adult.
And I've helped people through their own.

I have a capacity for extreme emotions toward the bottom of the scale.  Where others construct walls to keep things out, I jump in.  I like that part of me.  A friend said I had the "ability go deep into myself, and make sense of what most people want to avoid."  Then he said 'no one wants to talk about it.'
If I'm going to go through all this living I want to know the extremes.

I'm not impressed by logic, or reason.  I'm interested in the reactions we have.  I want to know why (if my soul's not part of my body) a tear comes out when I'm sad.  Or why laughter is audible.

Everything beautiful, and tragic comes out of us.
How do you assign value to either when you create both. 

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     I told Coach Paul the day before our game that I'd be late.  On game day I sent him a text, and told him I may stand on the hill to watch Aidan play his last freshman game.  I think he replied, 'WTF'.  If you have it under control, I'm not going to worry, I told him.  I'll come down if there's trouble, otherwise I'm gonna watch this last game, alone.

     When I'm coaching I miss half the game.  I talk to the defense when offense is on the field, and I only watch the positions I coach as a play begins.  I wanted to see Aidan play, and I wanted to watch him without interruption.  Aidan's last freshmen football game might also be the last I coach. 

 Self-reflection is an exhausting process, and there were days I carried it to the field. I've never done that before.     I transitioned between the isolated space  of rejection and fear, to the gregarious optimism of the practice field.  It was challenging.  Some days, all  I could do was stand at the edge of the grass.  

I arrived at the game midway through the first quarter, and parked at the top of the hill. 

I'd made the decision to stay separate from my son.  If  North Salinas did what I'd seen them do on film they'd be going directly at Aidan, and  I wanted to see that.  And I wanted to see him do it without my instructions, or accolades. .   

None of the other coaches understood what I was doing. I didn't really either.  But I'd made up my mind.  I watched the entire game alone, from the hillside my father had watched me. 

 I watched Aidan play, and observed every footstep he took.  I watched every block he shed, and every tackle he made.  I watched as a receiver went deep on him, and how he stayed with the receiver until the ball was thrown, and then I watched him take it away.  I watched him accept every accolade, and every high five, without me receiving them too.  I watched him claim his moment.  I watched him begin to use this game, and that team, to heal some of what his world had harmed.

The following day we went and got a milkshake, and he said he understood why I watched from a distance, although I'm not sure he did.

I reminded him that two games into the season he was going to lose his position if he didn't play better.
I reminded him how obvious his fear was, in the beginning, as he went to make a tackle, and how difficult it is to lie to yourself when you play this game.
I reminded him coach Blankenship told him he was 'disappointed' with him the first day of summer practice, and asked what he thought Coach Blankenship would say to him today.  He said, "He already did, Dad, "He said I played a GREAT game".

In the final game, I never saw a hint of fear in Aidan.  That's a big accomplishment in ten games, and 9 years. His fear will no longer own him. He knows you can enter it, and come out whole. 

So, I told the 14 year-old Aidan, what I couldn't tell the 5 year-old. 

I told him he'd be alright now that he knows he can fall back on himself.

I want my guilt to lessen, and I want the pain of him on the couch next to me

 replaced by the confident boy he is now.
I want to know he'll be alright.

Tonight, I think he told  me he is.