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Family Time

August 29, 2014

When my wife and I were raising two sons who participated in high school wrestling, we had two hopes before each large wrestling meet in which they participated. First, that they wouldn’t get hurt; and second, that they would win their last match of the day.
We didn’t care if that last match was for 7th, 5th, 3rd or 1st place. The ride home was just a lot brighter when the last match was a victory. We always struggled for the right words when the last match of the day was a loss.
So my wife and I found it especially interesting to read an article about Jeff Daniels published Aug. 7 in the Lansing State Journal that included this excerpt:
Daniels attributes some of his family’s closeness to life in Chelsea and traveling around Michigan to play hockey.
“I’m a big fan of soccer, however, we went hockey and never looked back,” he said. “Ben was 8, and Luke was 5 when they started in hockey in Ann Arbor. All those 5:45 a.m.’s on Yost Arena ice on Saturday and Sunday. All the way through the end of high school.
“I tell parents now, it’s not whether the kid excelled, it’s not, ‘Why didn’t you shoot instead of pass, ‘You’ve got to work on your slap shot.’ It’s not that,” he said.
“It’s the drive there and the drive back. And you talk about anything else except about the game. And we believe that the time we spent doing that, and not focusing on pounding your kid to be better at the next game when he’s 12 damn years old, is one reason we’re so close as a family when the kids are in their 20s.”

Ali

July 8, 2016

My wife has never held famous athletes and coaches in very high regard. Much of this has to do with her disdain for misplaced priorities – so much attention and extravagant spending devoted to entertainment and sports when so much of the world’s population is without most basic essentials of life.

Because of my work, my wife occasionally has been in the company of some of the biggest names in American sports; but only one clenched her in rapt attention. It was Muhammad Ali.

We were attending a banquet at which Ali was honored. We sat at adjacent tables, with the back of my wife’s chair almost touching the back of the chair to which Ali was being ushered, slowly because of his disease.

We all stood as Ali entered. My wife’s eyes were on Ali; my eyes were on my wife, for I had never seen her give respect to a sports personality in this manner.

After the banquet, and at times since then, and certainly again after his death June 3, my wife and I have talked about what it is in Ali that she hasn’t seen in other prominent sports figures.

We noted that he brought elegance to a brutal sport, and charm to boastfulness. We cited the twinkle in his eye that outlasted his diseased body.

We recalled the tolerance and dignity he brought to his faith, and how he demonstrated his faith commitment at the most inconvenient time in his career.

We recalled his poetry when he was young and talked too much, and his use of magic to communicate after disease stole his words, as he did that night we were with him.

Years after that banquet, when Ali lit the Olympic flame at the 1996 Olympics, my wife cried. She had tears in her eyes again when that moment was replayed on the day after Ali’s death.

Ali ascended to worldwide fame in a different era – when professional media tended to be enablers more than investigative journalists, and before social media pushed every personal weakness around the planet overnight. It’s possible Ali would not have been as loved if he had emerged in public life today. It’s also possible he would have been even more beloved.