Steely Dad

Normally I don’t follow too much celebrity gossip but I readily admit that the recent Tiger Woods headlines have caught and sustained my attention. So long ADD!

I respect Tiger Woods as an athlete. If there was one autograph I’d actually make an effort to obtain, it would be Tiger’s. As a golf enthusiast, I understand the true breadth and depth of his talent. But to marvel at Tiger’s talent is only half the story. What separates the World’s Best Golfer is his unbending work ethic. Tiger’s religious devotion to practice and training is well documented. Perhaps there are other tour players who possess more raw talent but none exist who compete with Tiger’s work regimen.

Tiger is also unique in that throughout his career he has enjoyed a high level of celebrity combined with a commensurate level of privacy. Before recent stories of infidelity, Tiger’s name was nary mentioned in tabloids. His image was squeaky clean and seemingly unimpeachable. It is this image, even more than his golfing acumen, that has afforded Tiger his life of luxury. Each year, on average, Tiger earns between $10-$12 million in golf winnings. Comparatively, he makes approximately $110 million in endorsements. Of all the incredible athletes to grace the field of play, Tiger will be the first to hit the billion dollar mark (if he hasn’t already). That’s how valuable Tiger is as a brand.

So the recent headlines are a concern for Tiger. However, in my opinion as a lowly stay-at-home dad who doesn’t have the capacity to understand the high-stakes game of athletic endorsements, it should be the least of Tiger’s concerns. Although he may lose some endorsements, they will eventually be replaced and his image and bank account healed. What may not be so easily repaired is the trust of his two little kids. I’m not sure how the man looks his kids in the eye. How does he go about repairing the relationship with his children? PR professionals and lawyers can’t help with this image crisis. Insofar as I know, press releases and spokespersons do not work all that well with kids. Winning more majors will ingratiate Tiger to golf fans but will do little in the way of rebuilding the trust his children so richly deserve. I think we as a society make the mistake of believing these kids will be fine because they live in a multi-million dollar mansion but kids are kids and they have feelings and emotions that need to be respected regardless of their lot in life.

Tiger Woods is an amazing athlete; as a daddy, he leaves much to be desired. The embarrassment and shame he has brought to his family are, on some level, irreparable. However, the cliché that men only think with their dicks and that this is typical of men is unfair to those of us who take the vow of fidelity seriously. Likewise, no self-respecting woman who married for love would want to be lumped in the “gold digger” category.  Articles on “How to Tell if Your Man is Cheating” should read “spouse,” as philandering is not the sole province of men.

But is it really all that surprising? No. What’s surprising is the time it’s taken for the veil to be lifted. I’ve followed Tiger’s career since before he became a professional and the fact that he seemed impervious to controversy for so many years only suggested that it was a matter of when not if some mud would soil his pristine image. It was difficult for me to believe that he was as saintly as his image suggested. Call me stupid but in my infinite naiveté I believe that everyone has flaws and weaknesses and it was only a matter of time before Tiger’s were revealed.

Am I disappointed? No. Why? Because unlike many, my heroes are not famous people. When I was younger, I had heroes who were athletes but they always fell short of my expectations. I learned that heroes are not superhuman; they’re people just like the rest of us but who you believe are somehow better than yourself. Eventually it occurred to me that belief in myself was the best policy. It seems to me that heroes do alright when others believe they are God; it’s when they start to believe it themselves that they fall from grace.

There has been much commented about Tiger’s right to privacy. Does Tiger have a right to privacy? Sure he does just as I have a right to all the amenities and privileges that Tiger enjoys. I’m not talking about money; I’m talking about access. Yet, even though I have a right to access and Tiger has a right to privacy, the reality is that it’s unlikely either one of us will come to enjoy these rights. You see privacy and fame come at a price. Tiger has to remember his fame affords him access to things we common folk covet, like court-side basketball tickets. With fame comes complimentary champagne, clothes and cars (and, in many cases, women). If Tiger desires privacy, then he must give up the seductive benefits of fame. I have privacy because I don’t have access; celebrities don’t have privacy because they do. Privacy and fame are valued commodities on different sides of the spectrum and unfortunately for Tiger, they are mutually exclusive. Tiger is now learning the simple truth that fame is not a resource that can be turned off when it’s inconvenient to be well known. Quite frankly it’s insulting when celebrities only pull the “privacy” card when the proverbial poop hits the fan. I’ve never seen a celebrity asking for privacy when walking down the red carpet or receiving an invitation to the White House.

To Tiger I say, you’re the best golfer in the world. Your job now is to become the best daddy. Understand that your place in golf history is secured; your place in the hearts of your children is not. You have a supposed crack team of consultants helping with your legal and public relations issues (even though I would say their advice has been bush league). These are the same individuals who remind you of your greatness, a gallery of sycophants who only tell you “yes.” But I’m here to tell you “no,” that what you’ve done to your kids is NOT cool. However, all is not lost. If you want solid advice on your paternal obligations, I have an entire database of quality men who elevate the title of “dad.” Give me a call and I’ll put you in touch.

This post is part of a Dad Bloggers Project over at Dad-Blogs.  Click on over to check out other dad’s perspectives on Tiger Woods.

I realize some of you have been following the story of baby Emma, the 13-month old daughter of our close friends Sophie and Tyler Crew, who has been in the hospital on life-support for more than two weeks in what doctors are calling a Shaken Baby Syndrome incident. Well, I’m happy to report that doctors have removed Emma’s ventilator.  Although doctors are cautiously optimistic, this is indeed a very good sign.

Sincere thanks to everyone who has been sending prayers, well-wishes and financial support to Emma and the Crew Family. I want to encourage you to keep them coming! Although the family has seen a ray of sunshine, there is still a very long path to traverse. Know that your kindness and generosity, many of you complete strangers, has made all the difference.

Thank you!

I have a favor to ask of you.  Yes, I’m aware that it’s rather presumptuous of me to make any requests in light of my prolonged absence, but a favor I ask of you nonetheless.

You might be saying to yourself, “You schmuck! You abandon us, your faithful and loyal readers, for weeks on end and now you want to ask a favor? You’re a stay-at-home dad for cying out loud! You should have time to write a stupid blog at least once a week!” and you’re right. All I can say is mea culpa. For whatever reason, the inspiration hasn’t been there as of late and I don’t want to offend your fertile minds by simply writing drivel that’s worse than the usual drivel you’ve come to expect from Steely Dad. Yea, doing so might help with SEO and page ranks but I think it’s safe to say those elements hardly provide me motivation.

The favor I’d like to ask of you is to stop reading this post right now. WAIT! Before you do, because I know just how happy you are to oblige, please follow these very important instructions: GO HUG YOUR KID(S). I mean REALLY hug them.  Tell them how much you love them, how special they are to you. No, don’t lie. I want you to hug them and kiss them and hold them tight and let all that love in your heart spill forth. Don’t be afraid; you can’t spoil a kid with love. For those of us parents with younger kids, we don’t appreciate the brevity of these early years. Parents with older children are often cursed with the wisdom that kids just grow up way too quickly. Never again squander another opportunity to let your kids know how much you love and adore them.

I know this would be the message of Sophie and Tyler Crew, dear friends of the Steely Family, if they could speak to you right now.  I know they would love nothing more than to be able to hug their beautiful baby girl, 13-month old Emma, right this very moment. I know they would do anything to be able to hold her, to touch her, to smell her sweet and familiar scent that only they recognize. I know they would do anything to be able to hear Emma’s silly giggle and to tickle her to hear it over and over again. Even big sister Ava would love to share her toys with Emma. But they cannot, at least not right now, for their precious little Emma is in a crucial fight for her fragile life after being victimized in what doctors have described as a Shaken Baby Syndrome incident.

Sophie and Tyler are living a parent’s worst nightmare.  Sometime after dropping off Emma at daycare, they received a call from the facility that something happened to Emma. At that seminal moment, at that singular second in time, their comfortable world was eternally shattered. And even if all prayers are answered, even if the miracle of all miracles happens, nothing for the Crew Family will ever be the same again, not EVER.

After hearing this tragic story, I wondered how anyone could do something like this to a little baby, an innocent child who is not able to defend itself . How could someone turn into such a monster? It seems unfathomable, unimaginable and demonic. And you know what, it is all of these things but apparently it doesn’t take much to turn into such a monster. A brief yet uncontrollable fit of anger coupled with several violent shakes in a few seconds is all it takes to steal the life of a child. According to the National Center on Shaken Baby Syndrome, an estimated 1,200 to 1,400 children in the United States are injured or killed by being shaken each year.

No gun, no blunt instrument, no poison was used. In fact, the person probably started off with good intentions of trying to comfort a crying child. But when nothing they tried worked, the person transformed from caregiver to monster. Hands, an inability to control impulses and the law of physics that would leave adults unscathed but literally shakes the breath out of those much smaller than us were the only weapons used in this case. We’ve all been frustrated with our kids, when they don’t listen, when they cry incessantly and inconsolably for unending hours, and we’ve wished it to go away, quickly, so we can get back to sleep, get back to work or get back to whatever it was we were doing. The only thing the Crew Family wants to get back to is a normal life.

Sophie and Tyler sit vigil by Emma’s side, where they have remained since this nightmare took on a momentum that far exceeds their tolerance.  Three hundred and sixty hours have passed since the last time they saw their happy, healthy Emma. Think of all the hugs they would’ve shared had it not been for a person’s, a stranger’s, rage.

Mom and Dad, sitting on either side of Emma, read her favorite books, sing her favorite songs, looking, waiting, wishing, hoping for anything that resembles life. A sign, a twitch, a movement, a response, a sound, anything. How do you hold on to hope when doctors say to let go of it? How do you manage expectations when doctors tell you not to have any? I don’t know how but I do know that Sophie and Tyler and Ava have not given up on Emma, have not lost hope and have not abandoned expectations. Emma knows this too, and she can feel the love and support and she hears our prayers and she has responded by moving one of her arms and one of her legs. She has opened her eyes. These are small but meaningful signs that nuture the seed of hope. Remember, all mighty oaks start out as tiny acorns. Let me tell you, this little girl has more fight in her than any, save her family, knew she had in her heart. She’s not giving up and she wants to let us know not to give up on her, that she’s going to keep on fighting.

Emma doesn’t understand what losing this fight would mean to her parents, to her sister, to her grandparents. She doesn’t know the grief that would descend upon an entire community of people who love and adore her. Yet out of nothing more than sheer life instinct, the genetic code that resolves us to take another breath when doing so presents greater challenge than not taking one, this little girl fights on.

It’s easy to think something like this will never happen to us and when we don’t personally know the people struggling with a tragedy such as this, it’s even easier to take comfort in the emotional distance that frees us from any reminder of the grief  being experienced by those hit hardest. But don’t forget; instead, think of little Emma struggling for the very existence we take for granted.

I’d like to make one last request. I am asking for everyone reading this story to pray for little Emma Crew. Organize prayer services at your church, synagogue or other place of worship. If you’re not comfortable with prayer, then please send your positive thoughts Emma’s way. If praying is fine and dandy but you feel moved to do something more “tangible” the family would be most grateful for any financial contributions. Obviously, both Sophie and Tyler have taken an indefinite leave of absence from their respective jobs (Sophie is a school teacher and Tyler works in construction) since Emma’s hospitalization. I know we’d all like to lessen the burden that was thrust upon this family by minimizing financial stresses in order that they may focus their energies on little baby Emma. Donations, in any amount, can be made at the Crew Family blog by clicking on the “Donate” button. I hope you will contribute out of a desire, rather than an obligation, to help.

If you’re a blogger, have a Facebook, Twitter or any other social media account, please feel free to post this wherever compassionate eyes may read it.

Thanking you in advance,
Todd (AKA Steely Dad)

It was four years ago today. Mommy and I were anxiously awaiting your arrival into our world. We were in the hospital room, Mommy in the bed, Dr. B and I watching the Padres take on the Cardinals during the MLB playoffs.

You were going to be our first baby. We were beyond excited to meet you.

So we waited, and waited.

And then…

You decided it was time to introduce yourself.

As I was watching in complete amazement, I saw the crown of your head. I was completely overcome with emotion at the power and miracle of life. I fell in love with you right then and there as I knew that I had been touched by G-d. I could no longer hold back the joy that rained from my eyes.

I never knew how much a parent could love a child until that moment when I saw you in your full naked spledor, screaming, crying, letting the world know that you had arrived and it should take notice.

I guessed you had to be around 8.5 pounds. I was astonished when you tipped the scale at 9 pounds 11 ounces.

I now had a son, a beautiful baby boy who I would love and cherish.

I am honored to be your daddy.

It was four years ago today but it seems like it was only yesterday.

I love you, Hogan Isaac, forever and always. Happy birthday, big boy!

Love,
Daddy

I love golf. Even though I’ve participated in athletics throughout my life (football, baseball, wrestling, swimming) to me, golf is the purest contest in sports. I took up the game a few years before becoming a stay-at-home dad (SAHD). The first time I played, I sucked but I was seduced by the game’s nuances and intricacies. To improve, I played five days a week. I practiced several hours a day and my scores began to reflect my effort. I went from a 20-plus handicap down to a single digit index. For those who don’t play, this is a pretty good achievement. Once kids entered the picture, I turned my attention from golf to changing diapers. It was a natural poopgression.

There are so many appealing aspects to golf, and I could wax poetic about many of them, but the one characteristic I most admire is how golf provides a perfect metaphor for life.

How so, Steely Dad? What the hell have you been smoking and what sort of transcendental bullshit are you feeding us?

On Sunday at the PGA Championship, in what may be perhaps the greatest upset in golf history, Y.E. Yang, the 110th best golfer in the world, beat Tiger Woods, the world’s perennial number one player. How can #110 ever beat #1?

By most (if not all) accounts, Woods should have beat Yang and done so handily. Yang started playing golf at 19 years of age; Woods started at 19 days old. Ever since Tiger displayed his precocious golf swing on the Mike Douglas show, he has been surrounded by the game’s best talent, professionals who’ve provided him with sound advice and counsel. Today, Tiger has the money and influence that affords him access to the best swing coaches, the best mental coaches, the best facilities, the best equipment, the best caddie, the best nutritionist, the best doctors, the best personal trainers, the best of everything. Yang doesn’t and despite these glaring inequities, this David still beat golf’s Goliath.

So really, how can #110 beat #1? It doesn’t seem possible. Surely the PGA must have redistributed some of Tiger’s talent to make it a fair match, right? Perhaps the PGA took some of Tiger’s winnings, put the money in a pool to be redistributed to other players thereby ensuring fair and equitable access to the best resources? Maybe Tiger had to play with inferior equipment, play from different tees or take extra strokes. How else to explain it?

What? You say that didn’t happen? You say Yang beat Tiger with his own ability, without the PGA manufacturing the circumstances or the outcome? You don’t honestly expect me to believe that Yang beat Tiger with sheer determination, gratuitous guts and singular focus, do you?

Plus, don’t you agree that Tiger doesn’t deserve to enjoy being the world’s number one golfer? He doesn’t deserve to win 50 percent of the tournaments he enters. Tiger doesn’t deserve to win 14 out of 14 majors when he has at least a share of the lead after 54 holes. Obviously Tiger couldn’t achieve his number-one status through talent, sacrifice and hard work, right? He’s the best for one reason: he’s lucky. The only difference between #1 and #110 is luck. It’s the only logical answer, right?

Everyday, we hear this type of argument made about the society in which we live; that the wealthy guy enjoys his status, not as a result of sacrifice and hard work but because he was luckier than the poor guy; that it’s impossible for the poor guy to rise above without handouts and entitlements and redistribution of wealth. So let me ask you. Why do we accept these notions as truths in life but not in sport? Why can it be that in golf we enjoy watching two guys with different backgrounds, different levels of talent, different cultures, different financial resources, different languages, compete in a contest in which one guy clearly has an advantage, and completely accept the outcome whatever it may be? How is it that we accept imperfect circumstances in sport but in life many insist that society has an obligation to manufacture fair results? They corrupt the human compass, an internal mechanism whose needle perpetually points “due persistence,” for they fail to recognize that in life, as in golf, it’s possible for a Yang to beat a Tiger. In their Utopian vision of society, no one would watch a single sporting event (OK, fake wrestling aside) because outcomes would be contrived. And just as sports would lose fans under such conditions, so too would society lose great and fertile minds.

“Oh, but man is inherently evil and the strong will take advantage of the meek,” some make us fear. Well, not in a civil society. Think of the PGA as the government (the USGA is the actual governing body but please afford me some artistic license). It has a set of rules and each player (think of them as members of society) has a right and incentive to do his best. Who enforces the rules? Did you know that in golf each player is expected to penalize himself? In other words, players are largely self-governed. However, should a player neglect to call a penalty on himself, he would be an anathema, shamed and pilloried. He would lose all credibility for he dishonored the game, its values and traditions. Is this expectation of self-governance too much to demand of a great society? If golfers can do it, why can’t the rest of us? Are we not capable of answering to a higher moral standard?

When circumstances are manipulated to achieve a desired result, it crushes the spirit of every Yang out there who dreams of beating a Tiger. If before the final round of the PGA Championship, the commissioner said to Yang, “Dude, there’s no chance you’re going to win this thing. Tiger has all these advantages that, quite frankly, aren’t fair to the other players. The ONLY way you can win is by accepting our help.” Do you know what would happen? It would destroy Yang’s competitive spirit, it would shred his belief in himself and it would enslave Yang’s mind that he cannot now, or ever, do it on his own. Yang would feel as though he is entitled to the victory, that he doesn’t have to earn it, that the world of golf somehow owes him special consideration. If the PGA began to manipulate variables in order to manufacture results, #110 would never have to work as hard as #1, the quality of the competition would dissolve and no one would watch or care because the outcome has been established. We would never be able to dream, “what if,” because the “if” would have already been answered.

If you watched Yang’s victory like I did, you probably said, “Right on!” But if you discovered that Yang was given special accommodation to improve his odds of winning, I bet you’d feel cheated of that beautiful moment when you were able to believe that anything is truly possible.