Steely Dad

At 9 PM Central on Thursday, Oct. 29, the Steely Family embarked on an ambitious adventure that most parents dare not even mention. What am I talking about? The Family Road Trip.

So far, the trip has been pretty eventful, complete with overnight stays in Wal-Mart parking lots and dances with crazy drivers. During one stretch through Kansas, we were greeted with a noisome odor. Being that we were in rural Kansas, I assumed it was produced by bovine manure. However, this particular scent had that distinctive “human” quality. I took a quick peek in the backseat at Steely Daughter and was stricken by absolute fear at the site of my beautiful daughter covered in poop after having a colossal blowout! She had it all over her hands so this emergency required swift, evasive and direct intervention. Needless to say, we will be one pair of pants short on our return trip.

This incident, along with some others, required me to take pause and ask the question: why do (sane) people go on road trips? More specifically, why do parents go on road trips with their kids? This trip has been different from all previous road trips. What happened to the romance of the road I recall, the road I knew intimately when Steely Wife and I camped across this great nation for our honeymoon (we subsequently enjoyed an Alaskan cruise but our camping adventure was our REAL honeymoon). The road I engage today is a distant relative of the one I once knew. The victim of an evolutionary defect that robbed it of its soul? Perhaps. Or perhaps it is me who had undergone the metamorphosis. Perhaps my psyche no longer requires the challenge of rugged survival on the road, but instead relishes in the creature comforts of the Four Seasons (or even the Sleazy 8, which is just as good as the Four Seasons after a sleepless night in a Wal-Mart parking lot).

The reason we go on road trips is for the opportunity such adventures provide for self-introspection and self-discovery. On the road, our souls are baptized by the wind and the endless stretch of asphalt that leads to the horizon of our dreams. Of course, at this stage in my life, I feel confident I can obtain the same soul-searching revelations with a warm bed and a plasma TV.

In any case, this stay-at-home dad wants to provide his loyal readers with a veritable “real time” experience of this unique adventure. Thus, I’m going to provide a kind of play-by-play narrative, including all the gory details, at Twitter (and maybe Facebook). So follow me: steely_dad for exclusive updates. Missed what’s already happened? You can read previous tweets on my Twitter homepage. And, in a Steely Dad first, I’m also going to attempt to provide ALL updates utilizing nothing more than my mobile communication device. Enjoy!

When people find out that I’m a stay-at-home dad (SAHD), I usually receive one of two different reactions.

The first is an overly-effusive and sometimes disingenuous diatribe about how wonderful it is that I stay home with the kids, and how progressive I am and all that crap. For those of you who do this in an effort to be complimentary, you’re not. Please just save your breath. Fortunately for me, I do not live my life for your approval. I must add, however, that sometimes people are sincere in their praise. Believe me, I, and the rest of we SAHDs, can tell the difference.

The other reaction I get is “Oh, that’s nice.” ‘Nuff said about that one.

Everyone has a personal reason why they become a stay-at-home dad, just as people have different reasons for becoming doctors, attorneys, fire fighters, garbage picker-uppers and crack whores. If you’d like a personal account of my reasons for becoming a SAHD, read this post.

Some men become SAHDs, not because they want to, but out of necessity. The economy has contracted and with it many male-dominated industries have shrunk. Check out this recent story. Many families have reevaluated their financial circumstances, deciding that Dad should stay home to care for the kids. I bet that at least some of these men who, after recognizing the bond they’ve created with their kids, decide to stay at home with the kids even after job opportunities present themselves. Other men make the conscious decision to be the primary caretaker of their children because by so doing they feel more fulfilled. These men wish to develop and nurture a different type of relationship with their children than compared with the “traditional role” dads.

Whatever the case, the transition to becoming a stay-at-home dad can be daunting if one is not fully prepared.  In this post, I’d like to provide some practical advice to help with the transition from breadwinner to bread-maker.

1. Understand that you will be surrounded by morons. What do I mean? You’re going to meet people who either disapprove of your role as a SAHD or are condescending about it. My advice? Ignore them or, if you’re particularly perturbed, hurl an insult like, “I hope your kids inherit your open-mindedness.”

2. You’ll meet moms who, by the virtue of the fact that they have a vagina, believe they are better at caring for children than you. Again, ignoring them is the path of least resistance but is certainly not as fun as slipping in a left-handed compliment. I recall an incident when my nine-month old daughter started to cry for food when she saw another baby being given a bottle. My kid wasn’t crying for more than five seconds when the mom of the other baby said, “You need to feed your child when she’s hungry.” Mind you, this “wonderful, caring” mother had one child compared to my two; that she had been a stay-at-home parent for all of a few months compared to my years of such experience and her baby’s mouth was infested with the worst case of thrush I’d ever seen, yet she still felt compelled to share this sage advice with me. I responded sarcastically with, “What? Really? You actually have to feed your children? I didn’t know that. I thought they lived by pooping and crying. Why thank you for opening my eyes. I would’ve never known.”  The weird part?  Most of the other mothers didn’t, as far as I could determine, thought her comments were inappropriate.

Whatever you decide, know that you need not compare your ability as a father to anyone. You are a good dad and it does not matter what others might think. Who gives a rat’s ass what they think? Can the comments and rude looks be hurtful? Sure they can but don’t let them get to you. Parenting is the one job in which comparison to your peers is a fruitless path. Plus, I find that those parents who try to take a holier-than-thou approach are usually deeply insecure about their own parenting style.

3. Listen and observe. Parenting, like golf, can never be mastered. It is an ever-changing and evolving medium that requires adaptable skills. You can always learn something new so it’s best to watch and listen to other parents who have similar parenting styles and philosophies. Ask for advice and most are more than willing to answer your questions.

Will you get unsolicited advice? Absolutely and you can take it or leave it. It’s not unusual for me to receive unsolicited advice from people who don’t have kids or their kids are in their 30s. Consider the source.

4. Be prepared. This might seem like a no-brainer but have all the essential items to cover most emergencies. A well-equipped diaper bag can help you eliminate stressful situations that fall under the “not-if-but-when” category. What’s my top emergency for which to be prepared? Hands down, “The Blowout.” Just make certain you have more than enough diapers and wipes. A couple of plastic groceries bags can be helpful in order to isolate soiled clothes. Also, make sure you have plenty of snacks, bottles/sippy cups, hand sanitizer, etc. It’s amazing how food can be such an effective distraction. My wife likes to bribe our offspring with lollipops in order to maintain her sanity during times of extreme stress.  I rarely resort to such tactics as I have developed “The Look,” which is also quite nice to have in one’s arsenal. My father-in-law once gave me “The Look” and I haven’t quite been the same ever since. Mind you, The Look is not effective with babies and really small children as they are not at all impacted by your evil eye.  Nevertheless, do as you see fit.

5. Kids cry. That’s right. Kids cry. Many have also become quite handy with the Fake Cry, an offshoot of its annoying cousin, Constant Whine. An experienced parent can quickly differentiate between the two in a way non-parents simply cannot. Some children genuinely cry a lot (those who have survived a baby with colic can attest here) and when they do, it can be unnerving when all efforts to placate the apoplectic child are unsuccessful. Don’t fret and don’t get frustrated. Just do your best and remember everyone has been there before. It does not indicate your failure as a father (a meth addiction would do so but not a crying child). This happened to me once when at the bowling alley, my daughter fell and hit her head on a fiberglass bowling ramp. I fetched some ice and was applying it to the injury, which only made her more upset. I knew she needed the ice but she was making quite a fuss. A woman came over to offer her assistance. Sometimes people, and for me it’s been exclusively women, who offer help or advice. Some are sincere in helping and others do so because they probably think you don’t know what the hell you’re doing. It’s a case-by-case issue so respond accordingly. In this case, I felt the woman was genuinely trying to help so I politely declined.

6. Have fun. This is perhaps the most important piece of advice I have to share and it’s one I need to remind myself of from time to time. Above all else, remember that spending time with your kids should be fun. Instead of going to an office, you get to go to the zoo or a museum or a baseball game. Yea, there are trade-offs that aren’t so fun, like changing diapers or sporting the Seattle grunge look 24/7 but for the most part, spending quality time with your kids is fun and should be so. Remember that this time is as fleeting as it is precious. Before you know it, all those requests for playing games and doing things together will be made by you. Remember, Harry Chapin’s melancholic little ditty “Cats In The Cradle”? But in the same way, it’s also important to make and take some time out for yourself. No, I’m not talking bubble baths and mani/pedis (unless you’re into that sort of thing, in which case you probably need not the advice offered in this post). I’m talking about doing something you like to do: read, watch TV, catch up on our fantasy football stats, whatever it is, do it. Why? Because kids can be very demanding and if you don’t take time out to recharge your batteries, you’ll soon lose all energy and motivation. So don’t feel guilty for taking time for yourself; in reality, you’re actually doing your kids a favor.

This list is far from a complete one and I know there are many stay-at-home dads and parents who have their own pearls of wisdom to share. Please feel free to add to the discussion in the “comments” section to this post.

Cheers!
Steely Dad

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)

This past week was a busy, but fun, one for the Steely Family. We went to the local carnival (for three days) and to keep the good times a-rollin’ we also threw in a Disney On Ice show for good measure. I realize this might give the false impression that being a stay-at-home dad (SAHD) is all fun and games, but really, being a stay-at-home dad can be tough work. No, really, it can be.  However, to be perfectly honest, when Steely Wife joins us, as she did for these events, I feel more like an unemployed dad than a SAHD.

I was struck with the most intense wave of nostalgia at the carnival. It seemed to me that all of the sparkly-cars-go-in-a-circle rides as well as the spinning-until-you-puke rides that I took my son on were the EXACT same rides that I rode when I was his age. No, I don’t mean similar; I mean the exact SAME! In fact, all of the toothless operators possessed an odd quality of reminiscence about them as well. I was my son’s age, eh hem, more than 30 years ago but could it be that these are, in fact, the same people and the same rides? I thought, perhaps, that dental photographs could corroborate my hypothesis but for some reason the “gentleman” operating the bumper cars took exception when I tried to photograph a close-up of his chompers. These carnival people can be quite testy.

Disney On Ice was, in a word, amazing. This was my second Disney show and it has yet to disappoint. Seriously, if you have not been, you should go. Your kids will think you’re a hero and you’ll find yourself cheering on all the famous characters who are doing stunts like back flips on ice skates and in full costume. The best part? As far as I could see, all of the performers had complete sets of teeth.

Since I’ve regaled you with my stories and rants for all these months, I thought it would be a fun experiment to turn over the Steely Dad Nation to the rightful heir, Steely Son, for his take on the carnival, the Disney On Ice show and anything else that pops into his head.

Here’s the exclusive interview:

Steely Dad: Thank you for agreeing to this interview.

Steely Son: OK

Steely Dad: So, did you like the carnival?

Steely Son: (In robot cadence) Yes-I-did-like-the-carnival.

Steely Dad:  What did you like most about the carnival?

Steely Son: Ummm, the Ferris wheel.

Steely Dad: Why?

Steely Son: Because, um (dramatic pause – unintelligible response).

Steely Dad: What?

Steely Son: (Sounding frustrated) BECAUSE, IT WENT UP AND DOWN!

Steely Dad: OK, chill dude. What other things did you like at the carnival?

Steely Son: Um, um, the MOTORCYCLES!

Steely Dad: Sweet. Anything else?

Steely Son: Um, eh, YEA! I liked the airplanes too!

Steely Dad: Nice. Anything else you want to tell us about the carnival?

Steely Son: Yea, the scary ghost ride!

Steely Dad: That wasn’t that scary.

Steely Son: Yea, it was! (Laughing)

Steely Dad: What was so scary about it?

Steely Son: Because the skeletons were popping out!

Steely Dad: Was Daddy scared?

Steely Son: Yes!

Steely Dad: No I wasn’t!

Steely Son: Yea, you were! Did you like it?

Steely Dad: Hey, I’m conducting the interview here.

Steely Son: No, I’m comucting the interview here.

Steely Dad: OK, moving on. How did you like the Disney On Ice show?

Steely Son: Good!

Steely Dad: What was your favorite part?

Steely Son: I don’t know.

Steely Dad: You did go to the show, right?

Steely Son: Yes.

Steely Dad: Then can’t you tell me your favorite part?

Steely Son: No.

Steely Dad: Why not?

Steely Son: Fine. Finding Nemo was my favorite.

Steely Dad: Hold on. I can’t type that fast.

Steely Son: FIIIINNNNDDDDING NEEEEEEEEEEMMMMMMMMOOOOOOOO.

Steely Dad: What else?

Steely Son: Nothing. I just liked Nemo.

Steely Dad: (Laughing)

Steely Son: What, Daddy, what?!?!

Steely Dad: OK, let’s be professional here.

Steely Son: What’s promessional here? Oy vey!

Steely Dad: So you didn’t like anything else about Disney? Come on. There must have been something else you liked.

Steely Son:  I just liked Finding Nemo.

Steely Dad: You didn’t like anything else?

Steely Son: NOTHING. I liked NOTHING else (waving his hands back and forth like an umpire signalling “Safe!”)

Steely Dad: You didn’t like Goofy?

Steely Son: Yes. I liked Goofy and Mickey Mouse.

Steely Dad: (Typing as fast as he can.)

Steely Son: Did you get that Daddy? I also liked Mickey Mouse.

Steely Dad: Hold on!

Steely Son: Daddy, what are you doing?

Steely Dad: Typing.

Steely Son: Oh, and I also liked the pirates.

Steely Dad: What pirates?

Steely Son: The Pirates ON THE Caribbean.

Steely Dad: When were those in the show?

Steely Son: When in the show? Huh? When in the show?

Steely Dad:  The pirates? When were they in the show? I don’t recall pirates.

Steely Son: Do you like them?

Steely Dad: Sure I do but I don’t remember them in the Disney On Ice show.

Steely Son: I remember.

Steely Dad: When?

Steely Son: Or maybe not.

Steely Dad: OK, final question.

Steely Son: Which final quesiton? What’s a final question?

Steely Dad: This final question. It’s the last question. OK here goes: who do you love more, Mommy or Daddy?

Steely Son: Goofy

Steely Dad: He doesn’t count. So who do you love more? Mommy or Daddy?

Steely Son: Mommy, Mommy, Mommy, Mommy!!!

Steely Dad: OK, that concludes our interview.

Steely Son: (Big smile) OK!

***

Thanks for reading and have a great weekend!

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.