It wasn’t the dramatic moment the movies portray it to be. I wasn’t the kid in too-big football pads, scanning the stands with anxious eyes, hoping his dad finally showed up for the big game. I was the kid in too-big football pads looking into the stands wondering where my dad was sitting for this mostly meaningless C Team middle school football game. It was never a question of if he would be there, it was just a matter of where he would be sitting.
That’s the story for my 7th and 8th grade C Team football career, where I racked up a handful of tackles, a recovered fumble, and one catch for 3 yards in my career. That’s the story for my senior year of high school when I was the backup kicker for the varsity football team. That’s the story for the other sports I was actually good at across school, club, and rec league teams. Dad was there. Always there.
One time, as we were riding home from one of those spectatorial mind-numbing middle school football games, I told my dad he didn’t have to always be there. Not that I didn’t want him to be, but, in a way true to puberty, it was a little embarrassing that he was always there. That, and I didn’t want him to get in trouble with his work, didn’t want him to use up all of his PTO, didn’t want him to go through that inconvenience just to watch his youngest son in too-big football pads rack up a handful of tackles, a recovered fumble, and one catch for 3 yards across two years. “I know,” he said. “But I want to.”
It wasn’t just my dad either. My mom was the room mom for mine and my brother’s classes, showing up with cookies. She was there everyday after school, taking a genuine interest in whatever I was excited about learning that day. Asking questions, brainstorming along with me, stoking my creativity and love of learning. One of my brothers and I recently had to break it to her that she couldn’t watch his 100 mile mountain bike race because there was no place for spectators. She was ready to sit all day though, just to be there to watch one of her sons ride his bike while another son made sure he was fed.
My parents’ presence is one of those things I took for granted in the moment, but have come to appreciate through reflection. Never a matter of if, just a matter of where.
If there’s one defining thing I struggle with, a wrestling match that I could be identified by, it would be my ongoing battle with restlessness. I am a very restless person. The moment that life gets boring or mundane I’m looking for the emergency exit and dreaming of the next destination.
While this isn’t an inherently bad thing, much of modern life is repetitive by nature. Work is almost always 9-5 at the same desk in the same office, every Monday through Friday apart from my PTO and holidays. We have the same social and church events on the same nights of the week. The routine is safe, predictable, and often needed, and yet the moment it gets mundane, I’m planning an escape, either physically trying to book a random plane ticket or, much more often, withdrawing mentally. I stop showing up. It’s not a matter of where I’m sitting in the stands, it’s a question of if I’m even there.
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