Sometimes I came out on top, like in a home match where I was sick with the flu and trailing late in the third period before grasping him in a bear hug, tripping him backward, and pinning him with less than 30 seconds in the match. Other times I was not so fortunate, such as the Faribault tournament where I lost by one point on a dubious stalling call. The rage I felt at what seemed to be an unfair call followed me into the locker room where I expressed my anger by attempting to destroy everything in my path. I threw my headgear, slammed lockers, kicked over chairs, bellered obscenities, and bloodied my knuckles on the grates of the lockers. Only one thing could stop my destruction.My dad walking into that locker room.
It was like someone sucked all the air out of that room. I could tell by the look on his face that what I thought was private ranting was heard by everyone in the gym, including my parents near the top of the bleachers. He didn’t speak immediately, which was worse than if he would have simply yelled. My father never really yelled. He was slow to anger but frightening when he was pushed to the breaking point. I was tormented for those 10 seconds that felt like hours as he stared at me, disappointed. He only said one thing before turning and walking out of that locker room.
“Son, you need to grow up.”
I stood there in stunned silence and embarrassment. Silent because my father never interfered with sports. The idea of my parents ever even talking to a coach was unheard of and complaining about playing time or positions would have certainly earned a spot on the bench. Embarrassed because what I thought was my private fit of rage turned out to not be so private.
But my embarrassment went much further than that. In that moment I realized that my babyish behavior felt as bad as, if not worse than, the whining of my nemesis. While he whined in the school paper, I was whining out loud, in public. Furthermore, I came to the conclusion that my actions are bigger than myself. Not only did I embarrass myself, but my actions also reflected poorly on my family, friends, and community. I was the very thing I despised: A whiner. In that moment I resolved to never embarrass myself or my parents in that way again.
Sometimes I think my father wonders whether his stint in the Navy and 37 years as a letter carrier for the United States Postal Service impacted anyone, let alone his family. The man who took all of us kids camping every summer and every MEA break “up north.” The man who preached conservation and ecology (recycling) way before it became a common practice. The man who always found time to play catch with a football or baseball in the backyard, even after walking all day delivering mail. The man who knew when I was going overboard and could let me know it with six words that sent a shock through my system.
My father rarely ever yelled. On that day he didn’t need to. His calm, measured, disappointed six words screamed through my head and brought the sickening revelation of extreme embarrassment to the pit of my stomach.
Of course there were disappointments in life after that, but I never reacted in the same way again. Six simple words taught me a lesson I have never forgotten.
