Do my kids look up to me? Well, sure.
Why don’t you believe that?
I mean we all have our humbling moments, those times when a chink in our armor is exposed. Even in those moments, I’m still Dear Ol’ Dad defender of the universe and the guy who can get snacks down from even the highest of shelves.
There was that one time I questioned how my kids viewed me. My two youngest daughters were putting on a play in the living room that caught my attention, I only happened upon it accidentally while heading upstairs to check on the baby.
While I didn’t come in at the beginning of the show, it was easy to decipher the main characters. One was “Mom” and she paced back and forth in the living room with a Barbie camera pressed to her ear which was meant to be a cell phone. She was talking frantically to someone, stopping every few laps to glare at the other character who was lying on the couch.
The “Mom” character would bark at the person on the couch who would respond with platitudes like “Okay dear… and Sure thing Honey” and then immediately roll over and begin snoring. This response was repeated over and over. Just as I started to decipher who the character on the couch was supposed to be the baby let me know that I was needed upstairs.
Sometimes I even have help appearing heroic before my kids.
My son Riley played recreation soccer this summer. Riley has such heart when he plays, and he is truly talented. The best part is that he is following in his father’s footsteps. Far be it from me to brag, but I was MVP of the Hamlin Recreation Orange Team in 1988.
One warm summer night, I was sitting on the sidelines watching Riley warm up for a game when a familiar noise caught my ear. It was the guiding voice of the greatest coaching influence of my childhood. Without even looking I knew that it was Coach Doug Kurz.
Among his many awards in my personal Hero Hall of Fame, Coach Kurz led the famous Hamlin Recreation Orange Team. While the mighty Orange were winless that season, it was still the pinnacle of my athletic career. No coach after Coach Kurz ever recognized my inner superstar, and sadly the soccer world lost a legend-in-the-making at the age of 11.
I looked around to confirm that my ears weren’t deceiving me. There on the opponent’s sideline stood my favorite all-time coach. Immediately I called my wife Leslie.
“He is here!” I whispered it into the phone as if it was a secret too good to be true.
“I’m sorry. Who is here? Are you in danger?” Leslie asked.
“Coach Kurz… you know from my MVP season…” I started to retell a story that Leslie had heard at least annually since we first met.
“I’ve got to go see if he remembers me,” I said.
“Oh, Honey don’t do anything to embarrass yourself or Riley,” Leslie said.
Her words of warning began to trail off as I was already halfway over to him. Just as I reached him, I was struck with the fear that Coach Kurz might not recognize me, as 26 years had passed since I last kicked a soccer ball.
But he did. He even called me by name. I told Coach that I was here to cheer on my son, and pointed Riley out to him. We agreed to introduce the two of them after the game.
It was a great game and Riley was all over the place making great plays. I couldn’t wait to introduce them.
We met Coach over by his car. He gave Riley all sorts of positive feedback, just like I remember from my childhood. Coach so loves the game, but he has always loved his players more.
He praised Riley for his quickness, for the way he hustled all over the field. And then he looked at me, and I knew it was the moment I had been waiting for, to be placed on a pedestal before my boy.
“Your father was a special player,” Coach said. “In my 35 years I have never had the opportunity to coach a player as slow as him. You must get your speed from your mother.”
Riley laughed. We all shook hands and went our separate ways.
When we got back in the house, Riley turned to me and asked, “Dad, can you get a water bottle down from that shelf for me?”
“Sure thing son,” I said.
Yep. My reputation is still intact. My kids will always look up to me.
