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Today's Christian, January/February 2000
A Friend in the End Zone
Dad had his own way of showing he loved me
by Steven W. Dietz
When I was growing up in a small western Kansas town, my dad worked long hours, first as a grocery storeowner and later as a bank officer. Yet he still found time for my sister and me, often taking us with him on errands or wrestling with us in the living room while my mother retreated to a safer area of the house.
One interest that Dad and I shared was a love for football, which he had played in high school and college. We spent hours tossing the football in the backyard and talking about the game.
Unfortunately, the local high school wasn't known for producing stellar football teams, having never won a league championship. During my first year of varsity competition, the team finished 1-8, with lopsided losses by scores like 40-13 and 58-0. I played defensive back and some quarterback, and painful as the season was, my father never missed a game.
I had a miserable day, throwing
five interceptions as we lost by
two touchdowns. I walked off
the field, alone in my misery.
Dramatically, the team's fortunes reversed the following year under a new head coach. We finished the regular season with eight wins and one loss, shared the league title for the first time in school history, and made the state playoffs, another first.
Following the previous season's haplessness, our success was amazing. The local newspapers wore out the term "Cinderella" in describing our transition from doormat to winner. The entire community, long hungry for success, caught football fever, so our tiny stadium was packed for Friday night home games. It was easy for a 16-year-old to be swept away in the attention and praise—and I was.
What's with Dad?
I knew Dad enjoyed that season immensely. He never missed a game, and often left his seat in the stands to follow play from ground level behind the team bench. But he remained strangely detached from the hoopla.
In our first playoff game, we came from 15 points behind at halftime to win on a desperation pass for a touchdown with about two minutes remaining. At game's end, everyone descended onto the field to celebrate the victory. I thought I was back-slapped and hugged by the whole town that night, and I felt like a hero. I was puzzled, however, because Dad was not among the crowd, and he was the person I most wanted to hug.
This same scene was repeated after our next two playoff games, as we won our way to the Kansas Class 3A championship game. Though these victories fulfilled my boyhood dreams, Dad didn't appear with the jubilant crowd after either game—including one in which I had scored the winning touchdown in overtime.
After each win, Dad returned home and waited for me at the kitchen table with Mom. When I arrived, we would stay up to discuss the game over a late snack.
Though I never mentioned it, I failed to understand his seeming indifference. Other than those late-night conversations, we rarely discussed the football season. Dad seemed more interested in talking about other subjects, like my job at the grocery store and my schoolwork. Why didn't he want to be a part of this? I wondered.
Making sense of the absence
We traveled almost 300 miles to play the state final. A mixture of sleet and rain continued throughout the day, turning the playing field into a muddy, icy mess. We fell behind early to a smaller, quicker team that seemed better able to adapt. Desperate to catch up, we started passing the ball in the sloppy conditions.
I had a miserable day, throwing five interceptions as we lost by two touchdowns. The fairy tale I had been living came to an abrupt end. There was no back-slapping or hugging that day. I walked off the field with my head down, alone in my misery.
Or so I thought.
Out of the corner of my eye I spied a figure keeping pace with me. I turned to see Dad, who had hurried onto the field to walk me to our locker room. It was a long walk. Though Dad said nothing, his actions told me he would share my failures when nobody else would. I wouldn't have to endure my pain alone.
I understood then why I hadn't seen Dad after the victories—I didn't need him then, and he was content to watch from a distance. But now, when I needed him, he was there. Though he didn't make the pain go away, he was willing to share it with me.
I believe a father's love is intended to mirror God's own selfless, perfect love for us. My dad has modeled the Father's love to me many times—but the time he met me in the end zone stands above the rest. It was a powerful reminder that the Lord, always present at our success, is also quick to draw near in times of trials and despair.
A Christian Reader original article.
Copyright © 2000 by the author or Christianity Today International/Today's Christian magazine (formerly Christian Reader).
Click here for reprint information.
January/February 2000, Vol. 38, No. 1, Page 39
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