Game Night

Last summer we started this thing with my parents where we get together one night during the week eat dinner and then play a board game with the whole family. I'm pretty sure that Haley came up with the idea so she could play some of the games she had been accumulating over the years. Anyway, we really had a great time with it so we re-instituted the weekly gathering again this summer. Last week my mom was on vacation and Lori had a hair appointment so game night was attended by me, Haley, Britton and my dad. We had a lot of fun as usual. We ordered pizza and then played Wits and Wagers. It is a fabulous game that can be played by anyone at pretty much any age. Normally when we play my dad does pretty well because you can arrive at a lot of the answers by applying logic and a little common sense. Haley, however, doesn't fare too well sometimes simply because a lot of the questions are about things she has never ever heard of before. But last week there was a round of play where Haley was kicking our butts. When the game was over me and dad were telling her how great she did. My dad told her, "You won that one all by yourself. We didn't let you win. I don't believe in letting someone win something. That way when you do win, you'll know you did it all on your own." Very wise words from the old man. And that got me to thinking about my life growing up. Sports have always played a big part in my family over the years. Some of my fondest memories growing up include some kind of ball being in motion at my grandpa's, either throwing the football or baseball in the front yard, or playing a game of hoops in the back. And over all of the years of playing with my dad he always beat me at basketball. Always. Did I mention always. It drove me crazy. My dad is 6'4" and played on his high school basketball team. They won the state championship at least once, if not twice while he was on the team. But the funny thing is that my dad couldn't jump. As I mentioned, my dad is 6'4" and when he played in high school he weighed about a buck sixty five. You'd think he could get up and throw it down. Not so. Bad genes I guess. At this point I need to mention that my dad is also one of the smartest people I know. Because of his mental prowess and inability to defeat gravity, he became a very cerebral ball player. His technique was flawless. He was all about the fundamentals and that made him good. And that also made him good for a long time. Because when most people got too old or out of shape to play with their kids, dad could still box out and post up and keep the ball away from the defender when he needed to. And the thing that always amazed me was his hook shot. My dad is left handed and with his size has a pretty big wing span. He could always back me down in the post and shoot that stupid hook shot that banked off the backboard. I could never, and I mean never, block or stop that shot. So growing up, most one-on-one games ended with me frustrated again that the old man showed me up despite my youth and ability. When I got into college I became very active and began working out, running and playing basketball a lot. I got in really great shape, the best of my life. I got pretty quick and could actually jump a little bit. But just a little because I inherited the jumping gene from my dad. So, after hooping it up in pick up games and intramural leagues, I finally decided to challenge my dad in the driveway one weekend. And boy, did I ever put it on him. I think the game was over in record time. So we played again. Same result, I whipped him. Finally after the third time of beating him, he told me he had enough, that it was fun, but he was too old for that anymore. At that moment my elation from finally beating my long time nemesis turned to real sadness. The hero was defeated and an era had come to an end. My dad was "too old for that anymore." He never let me win, he didn't believe in that. I actually beat him. But I quickly wished I hadn't. I wished I could take it back and let him win two out of three instead. But he wouldn't have wanted that either. That was the last time we ever played basketball against each other, just one on one. I miss that time with my dad. It gets me chocked up just finally writing about it even though it's been almost 15 years since that night in the driveway. But sports are still a big part of my family. Dad helped me coach my tee ball team this year. Having him out there with me and my son was one of the greatest experiences of my life and I wouldn't trade it for the world. I love my dad. I love him for the man he is. And I love him for the man that I have become because of him.