I grew up in a house where sports dominated everything. I grew up in a house where, on Thanksgiving Day, my family would sit at the dinner table for all of 10 minutes eating turkey, and then rush over to the couch and chair. We’d turn on the TV and watch the Thanksgiving Day football game. Usually the Lions were getting beaten again.

My dad would crack open a beer, sit in his recliner that no one else was supposed to sit in, and as a family we would watch the game. Nothing too special, it was just a normal Thanksgiving Day with my family.

My dad played sports all his life. He played baseball for Phil Jackson, the legendary NBA basketball coach and player. He loved sports, and there was nothing to it. I don’t think there was a sport he hadn’t played or didn’t mind trying. Some days I remember him sitting me down in our living room, and we would talk for hours on end about sports. His career, my future career, and anything else we could think of. I looked up to him. He was everything I had ever dreamed of becoming. He was my hero.

He was grumpy and didn’t go out in public unless he knew the people that were going to be there. He was overweight and scared of the world. But he loved me, and I loved him. And that’s all that mattered.

My dad loved to watch me play when I was younger. I think it was because he saw a little of him in me. He advised me throughout my whole childhood. He was my confidence, my agent, my coach, and my dad. Although my dad can’t play any sports now, he still knows his stuff. My dad and I connected like no one else when it came to talking about sports. Every day I thought to myself, “When I grow up, I want to be exactly like my dad.”

Sunday mornings meant getting up early and going to play golf at Reddeman Farms Golf Club. It was our favorite course in Ann Arbor. The quality of the course wasn’t good, but the price wasn’t bad and the people were great. Sunday mornings meant I got to spend five hours alone with my dad. It was just the two of us on that course. Although that meant I was going to lose every time we played, it didn’t matter to me.

I didn’t care what my score was, because I was doing something that not too many people get to do. I got to spend five quality hours hanging out with my hero: My dad.
As the years went on my dad got a new job; a job that made him work on Sunday mornings. That meant no more Sunday golf. I got busier with high school. Sports and homework started to control my life. Work and sleep controlled his. We would see each other for only a few hours each day. He was up by 12:00 a.m. and in bed by 6:00 p.m. My hero was disappearing from my life, and I didn’t know how to deal with it. I had problems with my golf swing. I couldn’t go to him, because he was sleeping. I had problems with my defensive stance in lacrosse and needed help, but he would be sleeping.

Life moves at a speed faster than anything we can comprehend. My hero lost his job. He got laid off. He doesn’t sleep, he doesn’t work, and he doesn’t talk too much. We drifted apart without knowing it.

He sits in his chair and watches the same movies over and over again. I come home, say hello, and he says, “Hi Son, how was your day?” I reply, “Fine.” Then I go upstairs, turn on my computer, and check out the latest sports news on ESPN. My hero is an acquaintance now.

My dad loves me to death. He would do anything for me to make me happy. But he doesn’t know how to show me. I love my dad more than he will ever know. But how do I tell him that? He isn’t here anymore, he moved away. How do I tell him I love him? How do I tell him he is my hero, and that I would go to the ends of the earth to make sure he knows that?