Do you remember what it was like?

How good is your memory? Mine? Eh, it’s OK. I’m terrible with names but I can tell you what surgery you had on your shoulder 20 years ago. I can remember football scores from games that I played in 50 years ago but might forget milk at the grocery store unless I have a list.

I used to ask my kids what they had for lunch at school. More often than not, they couldn’t remember. Sure, as we get older, remembering things seems harder. So, it’s not just an old person thing.

I preach a lot in this space. It’s definitely my pulpit and I take the responsibility seriously. My target for a lot of sermons is the parent of young athletes. I try not to be self-righteous about it—goodness knows I made every mistake in the book.

But I think I learned from those mistakes and now I’m recycling some of those lessons on behalf of grandchildren. The runners. The soccer players. The lone basketball player. The one that will be a football player. And the tennis player.

One of the things that helped me along the way and still helps me now is that I remember what it was like to be 15. And 16. And 17.

I can tell you the play that MHS ran against my Loudon Redskins to win the football game 35-28 in 1970. I can tell you who ran that touchdown and what defense we were in. I can tell you the name of half of that team because my coach, Gary Dutton, had coached them in Junior High.

I can tell you what it felt like after that game. I can remember the fatigue as I walked off. I remember how disappointed I was to lose that game. I wanted to win it so much for Coach Dutton.

I remember the effort that it took to compete at that level. I can remember the smell of the locker room. I can hear the banter in practice. I can recall the taste of the sports drink that we got during practice (one small cup, half-way through practice).

I can remember walking on the field for a game. I remember the bus rides. I remember the taste of the ham and cheese sandwiches that were waiting for us when we returned from a road game. Theyff were so cold and so good.

Do you remember what it felt like? Do you remember the practices? Do you remember what it felt like to lose a game? Did you have a parent that would tell you what you did wrong as soon as you got home?

I didn’t have that. My mom was the president of my fan club, always in the stands with Sammy Alexander watching Ricky and I play alongside each other after years of being great friends.

My dad was disabled with heart problems. Back then, you were told to avoid stressful situations so he never got to see me play football beyond pee-wee’s. He would listen to the high school broadcasts though. And he would never ever criticize me for doing something that he was never able to do.

He had to drop out of school after the 6^th grade and go to work in a factory to support his family. Imagine that. Seems bizarre today. It IS bizarre today. He was just proud of me. My mom would tell me about coming home after games and finding him sitting by the radio crying—such was the level of pride he had.

My message today is pretty simple: Parents, try and remember what it was like when you were growing up. Try and remember what you WANTED to hear from your parents. And then go out and be that parent. They don’t need another coach.