The 3 leg stool

I am blessed to have two brothers. We challenge each other, encourage each other, make fun of each other. 1996 we cried together. Women cry during a marginally sensitive movie, guys kinda hold back.

That day in 1996, I was a month removed from graduating from college. 3 months earlier, I went to dinner with my dad. Don Arturo’s in Ft. Lauderdale. One of our family fav’s when it came to Cuban food. Dad and I , like a lot of dads and sons had our moments. We went a period of separation. I worked my tail off and was paying my way through college. Before the bread came, he said, “Before I say anything else, I want you to know how proud I am of you. You brothers, I was able to help, you did it on your own. Just wanted you to know that.”

I was 22, single, and thought I controlled my world. A friend of mine called it “the strength gene” based on a lecture from a psych professor.

3 days later, I got the call from a brother. “ They found a spot on dad’s lung.” He may not make it that long. A few days earlier that was just a cough he couldn’t get rid of.

Dad was a man of sin. He drank too much. He smoked. I would cut the fat off my steak, dad would fork it and eat it. A mayonnaise jar would be emptied on his salad. He womanized. If dad had a list of sins to commit before dieing, he cleared it and created new and exciting ways to live life to the excess.

One of my favorite memories and one that I see as clearly as the day that it happened was him sitting in the stands at the ballpark, cigarette in hand, arms across his knees, smiling as I pitched in a baseball game when I was 16. Or my last game in high school when I blew it and I felt a hand reach through the dugout and pat my back telling me that it would be alright. Or the speech he gave me when I was in the bullpen about to start my first game in high school when I was throwing the ball all over the place. “Son, how many games game you played in your life? You have done this before. Just do what have done time and again. It’s the same game as when you were in minor league, same as senior league, same as high school, college, or pro. Just settle down and do your best.”

Dad was a Shakespeare tragedy.

That day in 1996, we all cried. He said it would hurt for a couple of weeks then we would remember the good stuff. Seems as the years go by and I tell my daughters about Grandpa Walter he was right. The good stories come out. He must be laughing as a dad of 3 sons that his youngest has two daughters when I really planned on coaching boys.

As time passed we realized that life comes down to 3 things that dad neglected. We create the narrative based on the mistakes he made. They are sensitive. They are only as strong as the foundation that they are built upon. What are those 3 legs holding up?

I ask myself every day. How am I taking care of my family? How am I taking care of my health? How am I taking care of my business?