Special Moments with Dad

A story about my dad with Alzheimer's

Los Serranos, circa 1970's.

The boys across the street were almost men, and they could throw that football all the way down the street and run faster than light. We were in awe of how talented they were. When they finally finished playing their friendly game of tag football, it became our turn.

Most of the time, it was three vs. three ten-year-old kids making their way up and down the street, attempting to cross that tire mark in the street for the touchdown. No extra points in this game because nobody wanted to stub their toe trying to kick the ball at imaginary goal posts.

For the most part, we all took turns as quarterback and never found the nerve to critique each other's performance. With each play, we had thousands of fans cheering every run and catch, but only in our imagination. Everything seemed to move in slow motion. Leaping into the air, one arm extended, tipping the ball just enough to redirect its path downward where it met your awaiting arms. Everything in sync, you, the ball, and inertia as they all succumb to the gravity. Reuniting with the ball in arms, forward momentum carrying you the two extra yards needed for the first down.

These were the good old times when boys learned where they fit into the scheme of all things. It seemed as if nothing could get any better, until dad came out to play. Three vs. three soon turned into 3 vs. 3 with a designated quarterback. Beyond the super pleasures of my Id and Ego, I found myself in awe of how lucky I was to have such a wonderful and talented dad. Thankfully, I was old enough then to realize having my father play with us meant the world to us.

As we grew older and got bigger, we continued to play the game with the goal of being as good as my dad. However, I realized that the ball never quite traveled as far down the street as it did when my dad was quarterback. I was fine knowing that my Dad had made skills and talent in addition to his infinite intellect and wisdom he bestowed upon us as we were growing up. A few more years past and the intensity of the game increased to full tackle, no gear. No longer did the game continue in front of our house. For now, our field of choice was the Crown Valley upper soccer fields.

It was there when I realized my speed and agility made it very difficult for others to tackle me. However, on defense I had to endure the brutal beatings of the bigger kids that enjoyed running over me as apposed of going around me to avoid tackle. Basically, I was a modest speed bump in the road. On this particular day, I realized I had enough and decided to apply a little judo to the one guy that ran right at me each time he got the ball. I recall this one play as if it were playing in slow motion, my nemesis lowered his head to gain speed as he charged right at me, 3-2-1, impact. I felt nothing as I took my knee and arms and threw him ten yards down the field, arms flailing, legs kicking, he lands face first in the dirt. Ah, that felt GREAT!

I look down the field and my dad was standing there. He heard there was a football game and he drove to the park to come play. I ran to the end zone where he was watching. I could see in his eyes his intention of wanting to play. Yet his words slowly revealed the truth, tackle is not his thing. The game changed from those times in the street in front of our house. We spoke a few minutes, then he decided to go about his day.

I remember this feeling of sadness as he turned and walked away. To this day, I will never forget this special moment when my dad came to be with us.

Today I play a different game, soccer. How wonderful it would be to have my dad show-up to one of my games, However, this time when my dad decides to go about his day, I would walk away from the game, hand in hand, and share what is the most valuable thing in life, my time with my dad, together.

I love you dad.