Day: September 7, 2014

Around the age of 9 I decided to be a professional football player. It took me to college to realize I had neither the temperament nor dedication to achieve that goal. I’ll probably always see myself as a failed athlete, but I’ll likely never stop believing that I have the ability to bounce back and at least be athletic well into my 50’s. Of course, as I’ve covered time and again, there is a gulch between believing you can be something and actually getting off the couch to be productive. My friend Caleb is deeply indicative of that. The man says nothing about wanting or needing to be physically fit, but he’s the one in the gym and shedding the pounds I continue to dream of. Still, this isn’t a post about Caleb or about getting fit. It is a post about the how our dreams filter through our lives and become what we do.

I started coaching after football ended for me in college. I coached 10-12 year olds and worked to instill in them the mindset that I hadn’t been able to achieve. I knew what it looked like and even how one could get there, so it was only natural that I would coach it. Coaching led me directly to graduate school. I’m being literal here. One of the parents showed up to practice one day with some grad school paperwork and demanded I fill it out. I did and the rest is Talis-history. Because school became such a singular purpose, I stopped coaching for years. I kept playing when I could–mostly flag tournaments here and there. When I moved to AZ I signed on with a semi-pro club called the Flagstaff Hitmen (though I lived no where near Flagg). I drove for hours every week just for the chance to hold on to that faded dream. On Sundays I would recuperate from the Saturday game and study the pros hoping to learn something I could replicate in my next game.

Soon that brief flicker of a dream reborn ended and fatherhood took hold. It was another four years before I even picked up a football. My eldest started playing five years ago and I first coached him in his second season. I’ve coached him every year since, and when he turned 8 he let me know he’d be going pro in due time. I don’t know if this is his dream or mine, but I know that it really isn’t about football. It is about sport and competition, and facing off against another human being and feeling that connection with those like him.

Dreams don’t go away. They stay hidden in the corners of your mind like a ghost or persistent shadow waiting for the moment to cast memory on your daily life. The dream, if meaningful enough invades every aspect of your life compelling you to meet it, to shape your reality in the fashion of what you dream–what you believe you are capable of achieving. On Sundays I watch football and play football video games, and talk about the deeper meaning of sport and competition with my boys, and when my body and mind are good for it, I take to the field and live out fun and glory and memory in the style of what is and what could have been.

 

Some thoughts:

1. Under one minute left: It is interesting how sometimes the words crash down like a waterfall and other times I struggle to put a single sentence together. If I could figure out how to keep that faucet going all the time, I’d be a trillionaire–and ridiculously happy to have so many words…

I just returned from a ‘date’ with my now ten yr old boy. We don’t get many chances to have one on one time, so when he suggested that he wanted some daddy time I was more than happy to make that happen. The hours before our night out were spent celebrating his birthday. I spent most of that time in frustrated silence, because the day did not go nearly as fabulously as I hoped. You only get one, maybe two chances to add a digit, so ten is a big deal to me. There is little chance I’ll see the boy turn 100, so this is the one shot I get for a digit birthday. Unfortunately his two younger siblings didn’t get the ‘this kind matters’ memo and decided to spend the day fighting each other over ownership of everything from the air being breathed to proxy battles over the space they so clearly rent in each other’s heads.

Things did not go well. By noon the bday boy was yelling at them too and we four struggled to find even the most basic enjoyment. We considered going to the pool but the motivation was tempered by the outrageous behaviors of the younger two. They calmed for a spell while cake was shared and the eldest opened his smattering of gifts. He got 10 gifts–8 of his own choosing and one chosen by mom and one chosen by dad. The 10 was meant to represent one gift for each year of his life. One gift was also meant to serve as the connection between years lived and the growth of tomorrow.

Afterwards he and I left to watch a film at the local theater. He remarked it was the 3rd film we’d seen–just the two of us–in his whole life. He pointed out that two of the three came this year. What struck me was that he counted and he remembered these rare solo times. I love that kid. I love them all and they each deserve a chance to have a one on one with each parent. The whole day and into the night when we were together I was logging the moments like photos rolled into my datacard. It seems like kids are tiny forever when you’re changing diapers and feeding them strained peas. Then they start school and suddenly their off to college. Time is never enough to have wonderful memories with your kids. That is why tonight was so important. It was a moment–our moment to be who we are when we are alone with each other; a father and a first born kid enjoying a movie and good conversation.