The lesson to dream
In July 2001, Alan Bestwick delivered one of my favorite sports calls when he described Dale Earnhardt, Jr. using lessons learned from his father to win the Pepsi 400.
On this Father’s Day, that phrase “lessons learned” has been in the forefront of my mind.
On May 17th, I lost my dad, Kenny, to a short but courageous fight to cancer.
As I have reflected on my childhood over the last month, I’ve been reminded of what I have always known: my dad was a great dad. I pray you can say that about your dad whether he’s still here with you or, like mine, he’s gone to a better place.
I pray my son and daughter will say the same thing about me as they continue to grow up.
In 1982, my dad took me to my first game in Neyland Stadium. It was the Vols and Memphis State in the November cold. He wanted to leave early. I would have no part of it so, of course, we stayed. I recounted that story to my dad the night before his passing. He had little recall of the afternoon in the south end of Neyland Stadium. I did remind him of our ride to the game, a sweet Buick Skylark.
He replied, “Buick sucked”. I laughed, he smiled. It was a great moment for me at the end of his journey.
My dad liked sports, but he was no fanatic. However, they were my passion. I memorized the backs of baseball cards and football cards. I played everything I was allowed to play and I played it with my hair on fire and feelings on my sleeves. As a youngster, I hated to lose. After a loss in junior pro where I tried to blame someone else, my dad told me in that same Buick that I would never play if I ever did that again. He pointed out my mistakes and told me winning and losing started with me.
I still hate to lose. But the lesson---that a loss is my loss, not anyone else’s---has never left me.
Like most dads, he taught me to drive, play golf, love the water and too many other things to mention. Summer nights might passing ball in the yard. Winter nights meant a lot of paper football and table hockey games where the slow plastic puck was replaced with a marble.
Dad taught me plenty. But his greatest lesson to me was to dream.
When I was in college. I was working a 6am radio shift, then attended classes, then a part-time job after school.
My dad didn’t get why I was burning the candle at both ends, but he supported my passion for it. It’s why on mornings when I would hit snooze a few too many times on my 4:30 alarm, he would have my truck warm and windshield scrapped as I got out of the shower and dashed out the door.
When I told him I was going to do a non-paying internship in my future profession and wouldn’t have income, he said we would work out something.
He knew it was my dream to be involved in sports. He not only encouraged it, but he supported it and he believed in me to accomplish it.
On this bizarre Father’s Day that features no fans at live sporting events, no US Open, no NBA or NHL playoffs, I realize how much I miss sports and how much I miss my dad.
Thankfully, I know sports is coming back. I believe toe is going to meet leather this fall. I will have Friday nights watching my son and Saturdays in the best seat in college football.
And as a dad, I will continue to do all I can to help my children dream.
Because, as a son, I will never forget how my dad’s support and belief in me turned dreams into a reality far better than anything I could have imagined.
Thanks for the lessons, Dad.