There are two conversations that no parent wants to have with a child a month before Christmas. The first concerns the centuries old question of the reality of Santa. Does he exist? Is he really just parents? If I don't believe, do I still get presents? Ah, if it were only that easy.
Never did I think that we would have to sit down with our boys and have conversation number two, explain to them that sometimes, no matter how hard you work, no matter how much you love your job, no matter how much progress is made, sometimes you get fired, er, asked to resign I believe is the correct term. Of course, when I heard the news, I had a grown up reaction: bills, moving vans, resumes, and real estate agents flooded my thoughts. Our boys put it into perspective. The first question one of them asked was "Am I ever gonna see River or Xavier again?" Exactly, a 9 year old is made privy to adult information and his first thought is that the teenage boys that fill his afternoons may all of a sudden drop out of the picture. Yeah, that one made me kind of mad. That question was followed by "Can we still play on the football field," "do we still get to go to Georgia games," and "When do you have to clean out your office?" Yikes!! They didn't cover this one in Parenting for Dummies; so we ad lib. . .
I wanted them to know that Daddy chose to be a coach because he loves the job, and that every coach knows his head is on a platter at the beginning of every season. They choose it anyway. Every coach knows that his every move is open to scrutiny, the court of public opinion, and fodder for a newspaper on a slow news day. They choose it anyway. Every coach knows that you can please all the people some of the time, some of the people all of the time, but you can't please all the people all the time. They coach anyway.
I wanted the boys to know that Daddy doesn't regret anything he did as a Coach; that all the plays, drills, study hall sessions, character education lessons, rides to and from practice, summer camps, Sunday work days, and film watching weren't done in vain. Many people don't see it, but the ones who matter do.
I wanted to tell Tucker and Tanner that there will be other boys, new quarterbacks and favorite receivers. There will be other players who take the time to throw some passes, play video games, and include them in locker room antics wherever we go.
I want them to know, though, that every player Daddy coached at Jackson County will never be forgotten, will never be replaced, no matter how many new ones come and go. I want Tucker and Tanner to know that everything that happened here matters and that every player, coach, and game; every practice session in the rain or in the 100 degree heat is a memory and a moment that can never be taken from them just because we moved. Just because the job wasn't "good enough" in some people's eyes doesn't make the impact any less important.
I want Tucker and Tanner to know that on any given day, ask a teenager, ask a young man in college, ask a young adult with a wife and a new baby who changed his life, who made him a better person, who never gave up on him. The answer will be his Coach. The win-loss record may not reflect that, but records are for newspapers. Football isn't just a game; football is people who walk away from the game but carry it with them everywhere they go. And no one can take that away from any of us.
