August 16, 2013

BE THE ONE

Tiger Woods is a polarizing figure. Because of his horrible life choices people either him love or hate him. There is very little indifference when it comes to public opinion. However, I learned a very valuable lesson about “Being the One” the other day. This isn't something that Tiger Woods did for someone else, but what someone else did for Tiger Woods.

I watched a recent interview with the famed Billy Casper on the Golf Channel. He and Tiger had grown close to one another over the years as they interacted through the PGA. After Tiger’s fall from grace, many people who he considered to be friends turned their backs on him. Some of it was justified due to his wanton recklessness and utterly selfish behavior. He quickly became a pariah in the golfing community. He was publicly scorned and quietly shunned by the sport and the golfing community he had once loved. It was expected, he had brought it on himself.

Billy Casper however, took a different approach. He welcomed Tiger with open arms. He made one golden rule that Tiger must abide by, every time Billy and Tiger saw each other Billy got to hug him. Tiger reluctantly agreed and the first few times the hugs were awkward and uncomfortable. Making it seemingly even more uncomfortable Billy would tell Tiger that he loved him. Billy chose to love Tiger regardless of his poor choices and personal shortcomings. He chose to see Tiger for what he could be and not for what he had chosen to be. Those intimate moments have become a cherished connection between the two. I don’t know how much of a difference it made in Tiger’s life however, Billy Casper made the conscious decision to try and make a difference in the life of someone who needed to feel loved in spite of himself. He chose to love his brother when his brother needed it the most.

Are we any different? Through our life’s journey we will unavoidably offend others and be offended. We will inadvertently step on others toes and likewise have our toes be stepped on. Human nature is such that it is easier to hold a grudge towards someone than it is to forgive those that offend and yet we all need the opportunity for personal redemption.

We live in an increasingly complex world. Turn on the news or read the newspaper and what is highlighted are the stories that emphasis the ugliness of the human experience. Neighbor pitted against neighbor, insatiable greed, countrymen killing one another over religious differences and political corruption.

Conversely, if media outlets chose to focus on the positive and highlighted stories about all of the good that happens would that make a difference in the world we live in today? I argue that it would. I am a firm believer that a rising tide lifts all boats. So if they’re not going to do it then we have too. We have to be the rising tide. We have to elevate ourselves above the fray. We have to be better than we are. Each one of us has a choice; we can choose to make a difference. We can choose to serve one another. We can choose forgive. We can choose to love. So choose to be the one!

The Gloves

The Gloves

            The first time I saw Billy was on a warm spring afternoon in 1980. His grandma pulled up to the baseball field and Billy nervously climbed out of her car and started walking towards the dugout.

His grandma called through the open passenger door window, “I love you and I’ll pick you up in a couple of hours after my hair appointment.”

I was the little league baseball coach and Billy was a last minute add-on. I didn’t know anything about him, but I admit I was agitated that I would have to make some last minute adjustments to accommodate this little boy.

            His hair was a Sunkist blonde and he had a bowl cut that shaped his head like a little helmet. Underneath that helmet of hair, starring out at me were two of the saddest blue eyes I had ever seen. He wore a pair of Tough Skin jeans and an old pair of tennis shoes. All of the other parents had bought their kids practice uniforms and cleats. Little league was serious business. We meant to win.

Over his shoulder he had an old bat. The handle of the bat had been run-through the webbing of two baseball gloves. One was smaller than the other, the size for a small boy, while the other was a little older and more worn, definitely the size for an adult.

            “Get out on the field and warm up.” I said a little too gruffly. I had to force one of the other boys from the team to play catch with Billy and from that moment on I knew he was going to be an outsider.

            He was awkward and slow, I was impatient. If he weren’t sitting on the bench, I would put him out in right field to keep him out of the way. That became our routine for the next three weeks.

            One day he showed up a little late at practice, all of the other kids were already paired up to play catch and warm up. Frankly, I’d been hoping that he wouldn’t come.

            “Alright,” I said, “I’ll play catch with you, but take it easy, I don’t have a glove.”

            He removed the two gloves from his bat and handed me the bigger one. I could smell the saddle soap that had been applied to it and see all of the creases in the leather.

            “It was my dad’s.” He said quietly. “He used to play catch with me everyday after he got home from work before he died.”

            I looked at his little face outlined by his Sunkist colored hair and his piercing blue eyes. I knew that I had failed him. He needed a father figure, instead he got me.

            I slowly took the glove, “I would love to use your dad’s glove if it’s alright with you.” I said.

            He nodded his approval and, for the first time since he started coming to practice, he smiled.

            I held the glove up to my nose and could smell the sweat of warm past summer days mixed with leather. I looked at Billy and understood that this was one of the ways he felt his dad’s presence. I gently put the glove on my hand understanding that Billy was trying to hold onto his dad, he was trying to connect.

We played catch not only that day but everyday after that.

            Today, twenty years later, I went over to Billy’s house just to see how he’s doing. As I pulled into the driveway, Billy’s out on the front lawn playing catch with his son and I immediately smelled the sweat aroma of sweat mixed with warm past summer days and leather.