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My Turn
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From The Asian Reporter, V18, #25 (June 24, 2008), page 6.
The Tiger Woods of sons
My son will be the Tiger Woods of tennis. No, even better, he will be the Michael Jordan of tennis. Wait, wait, my son will be the next John McEnroe of uhh … well, tennis.
At least that’s my fantasy.
There comes a point in fatherhood where most dads foist all their hopes, dreams, and aspirations on their kid. In my case, I have my 10-year-old son, Tyler.
I think this generational rite of passage starts from a biological urge for fathers to transfer every ounce of ambition and unfulfilled aspiration into their son so we can live vicariously through them. It’s bred into us. We can’t help ourselves. I believe the clinical term for the condition is "Needtopassthebuckology."
I see signs of it every time I get together with my friends. "My son just got an all-star award delivered to our home for baseball!," said one. My other friend called to tell me he’s started coaching his two boys in junior tennis and one of them was characterized as being especially gifted.
In fact, now that I think of it, every one of my friends who has a son who is at least eight years old has told me their son is especially gifted in one sport or another. I have yet to meet a father who has an average or "gift-less" child.
All of this, of course, only intensifies my obsession to discover the superhuman talent that must lie somewhere within Tyler. If all these other so-called gifted boys are that good, then surely Tyler must possess the kind of Schwarzenegger-like strength and cheetah-like reflexes to excel in any sport.
I figured, once we discovered Tyler’s athletic gifts, in short order we could expect opponents to fall to their knees in dejection once they saw the phenomenon that is Tyler and realize any attempt to compete against him was basically a futile delay of the inevitability of his unstoppable awesomeness.
Perhaps my expectations were a tad high.
I’ve taken him out to the tennis court, since I’m a pretty good player and I figured it was a good place to start. I taught him the basics, and he gets excited when he hits the ball and a little frustrated when he misses. He is fine when we are on the court, but you distinctly get the feeling he would be just as happy riding his bike or goofing off with his friends.
He has no obsession for the game, and based on my experience with him, the same goes for soccer, baseball, or any other organized sport. As a dad who loves his son, I’ve come to realize that whatever he does, as long as he tries, is fine with me.
So, after a few weeks of coming to this conclusion, I was pleasantly surprised when Tyler wanted me to take him out to the tennis court and hit some balls.
Of course, with my outlandish expectations once again quickly re-established, I readily obliged and we headed to the courts.
On the court, Tyler ran around, trying to hit every shot, including ones he couldn’t realistically reach. He kept at it, and only took a break just to get some water. We played for 90 minutes and for the first time, he seemed to revel in the game.
Time to work on those sponsorship deals again.
Once we were done, we came home and he wanted to get some more water. He opened up the refrigerator and, all at once, one of the side drawers fell off and a number of glass jars burst on the floor. Tyler looked a bit stunned, and I told him to step away from the broken glass but that it was OK and these things happen sometimes. Yet he looked dejected.
I told him, "It’s OK, Tyler. It’s just an accident. I’m not mad at you." He said, "I just wanted this to be a perfect day, and now you have to clean up this mess."
Not quite understanding what he meant, I asked him, "What do you mean you wanted this to be a perfect day?" He said, "You know, the card I gave you this morning, you and I spending time together today."
Then I realized what my 10 year old meant. That morning, he gave me a card. For the last few years on that day, he’s given me a card. A Father’s Day card. And now I realized he played his heart out on the tennis court that day … for me.
At least for me, it was the best Father’s Day a father could ask for.