Coach

 I think for the first 20 years of my marriage, I had a great deal of resentment towards my father-in-law. 

He was by all measures a wonderful man, but I felt in many ways, his grandchildren took a backseat to his happiness. And yet, the irony of it all, I also believe that other than my husband, he understood me the best. 

I will explain. After his retirement, he devoted most of his days and nights to the local high school and its sports program. It would seem logical since before that he had lived his life through his children's sports. An incredibly attentive parent in that regard, he coached them, encouraged them, and dreamed with them from T-ball through the entirety of high school. His breath was measured by the smell of a fresh cut baseball field. His heart beat to the pounding of shoes racing up and down a basketball court. And his eyes came alive with the lights of a Friday night football game. It was far more than his passion; it was his life. 

So why would I resent this? Because he chose those activities over what I felt was more important. He would spend hours mapping out strategies and odds of winning for the teams. He became the beloved announcer at the games, mainly baseball and basketball. Everyone knew Coach. Yes, the name he was aptly given when his children were growing up, and the only name I ever called him by, Coach. One would imagine I would be proud of him, and I was, but the nagging question in my head - why did he seemingly choose hundreds of kids he barely knew over milestones in his grandchildren's lives? 

His obvious absence at Baptisms, First Communions, Confirmations, and birthday parties left me angry and hurt. But, looking back, I know that was never his intention. He was doing what gave him joy. What fulfilled him and brought him a sense of purpose. Although I was left to give awkward excuses not only to other guests, but to our children as well, maybe that was on me, not on him. 

When summer would come, he would create special days for all of the grandchildren to spend with him. He built a playhouse in the backyard for everyone to enjoy. If I close my eyes right now, I can see him, sitting on the front of his lawn tractor, wagon in tow, gleaming ear to ear as he ushered his grandchildren around his acreage to sounds of laughter and love. Christmas was no exception to his infectious excitement. All were to arrive at 8:00 AM sharp to begin the day. As we walked in Handel's Messiah would fill the house with Christmas spirit. The smell of breakfast gleaned the air like fresh fallen snow, as presents spread from floor to ceiling and wall to wall. He would always have a game for the grandchildren to play, and the winner would garner a crisp $20 bill. After everything we would finish with a prime rib dinner. Our bellies full, love capitulated through every corner of the long winter day. 

Today as I think back on those marvelous holidays, I can't help but feel as though I shortchanged my father-in-law. He loved his grandchildren very much, of that I never had doubt. But all those years ago, I wanted him to love my children on my terms, not his. I expected him to find the same importance in my children's milestones as I did. Who is to say that those tractor rides were not as sacred to him as a confirmation was to me? Or the same joy I found in birthday, was not in his heart for Christmas? How am I to know that announcing a game was not a prayer of gratitude for him, just because it wasn't in the context of my soul.

Perhaps the years have skewed the sharp memories of disappointment when he was not there, but I like to think perhaps I have just grown in appreciation for him. His greatest absence has been from our lives. It will be 25 years in March. Honestly, my love has grown for him with each passing year, and the special times he gave to his children and grandchildren. 

So, for now, I prefer to remember the laughter he gave so freely. The time he did give to others when he did not have to. And a perfectly sunny day on River Grange Road, summer all around, and eight little children in matching shirts on the back of a wagon being driven by their grandfather, wearing a shirt matching theirs, and smile that fills every crease in his face, eyes dancing in the moment belonging only to him.