Big shoes to fill
During the last few weeks I have been undergoing some tests and faithfully taking my prescribed drugs. While doing all of this I started thinking about the fragility of life. The other day while attempting to sleep I looked at the ceiling and mumbled to my wife who was wrestling to get to sleep as well. Pregnant women don’t sleep a lot, so we often end up staying up talking the night away.
The topic of this conversation was about the heart. It wasn’t about our marriage and who’s giving or who’s not; rather, it was about my discussing my fears of what the medicines I take make me feel like. The conversation was simple. “I often feel my heart pounding so fast it feels like it is going to explode. I lie here, and in the silence I get nervous. I start thinking that what if it’s too much and bam my heart stops and I am gone.” My wife put her hand on my shoulder and rubbed my neck. “You need to relax and think about how great of a dad you’re going to be when Madison gets here,” she replied. My wife has a way of taking my mind off of things and bringing my intense moments of anxiety down. I often try to go to sleep on my own — without my drugs — hopingdreaming that some how, some way the days of going to sleep will come back. To those who can sleep, I say don’t take it for granted. Not being able to sleep is a nightmare I wish on no one.
While getting ready for the day the next morning, I turned on the television, and there on the screen was breaking news: "Meet the Press" host Tim Russert had died of a heart attack. I sat down on the bed and just stared at the television. I couldn’t believe it. I had just watched him on a program the previousfollowing day. I got my wife’s attention. “Babe, Tim Russert died of a heart attack. Can you believe it? We just watched him yesterday.” If you were to ask my wife who Tim Russert was a couple of months ago she would have had no idea, but since I spend many hours watching political shows on television, she knew what this meant to me. Some people get upset about their favorite superstar passing away, but for us aspiring journalists this was a devastating blow. In short, Russert was the example of pure, honest journalism. But there was more to his tragedy that hit me; it was the timing. Father’s Day was on the horizon. From what was reported, Russert had just returned from a vacation in Italy to celebrate his son's college graduation.
Having the opportunity to write a column every week, discussing issues — some Army driven and others personal — has been a blessing. As often as I write about my public life, not many people know the father behind the writer. Knowing my father and knowing how his life influenced me will help you further understand where I get my passion and desire to share the truth and hold nothing back. Being able to sacrifice my comfort zones for the over all mission, whatever that may be. Sometimes in life it takes something terrible for people to start looking at those who have raised us. In this case, the death of Russert and his dedication to his family, specifically his dad, Big Russ, brought me to write this article.
My farther is in my writing. It may sound odd or abstract, but he is. My dad’s heart, his fight to go against the grain even though the repercussions are harsh — that comes through in the lines you read from me each week. My father stood behind a pulpit for 25 years and preached to people who would later on stab him in the back. As a young man, I witnessed the frustration and sadness in his face as well as in his voice, but not once did he retreat or find an excuse for the treatment he received. My dad went to work every day with a mission, and that was to help the world. Not to save it, but rather just lend an ear and offer his wisdom to those who desired it. I remember sitting in the church listening to my dad and thinkingsaying, “I hope I can talk like that and have people listen.” My dad’s leadership took a church of 100 and grew it to many hundreds. My dad was humble and never let the success get to his head. By doing that he taught me that just because you succeed, it does not mean you have arrived at your destination. There is always much more to accomplish. My father never pushed me to do anything, unlike some fathers who push their sons or daughters to play sports or, in my case, do the church thing. Instead, my dad told me that he would support me in whatever I did. My dad’s tolerance and patience when I was acting foolish was incredible.
My father wasn’t a happy man when I joined the military, but he was confident the Army would train me to make it through anything. His worst nightmare came true when I was deployed to Iraq. It was then that I learned about the pain and suffering my father had experienced been through in his life because of his brother being killed in combat. I knew how much this worried him, and doing that to him didn’t make me feel too good. But at the time, I knew joining the military was the right thing to do. In short, my dad has been the one man who has inspired me to take a chance, to step out and face the world regardless of the odds. He is a man who is set in his ways, but he has the heart of a lion. And he has given me the gift, the ability to reach, teach and try my hardest to tell a story about the life I live and the things that move me. I hope that I can be as good of a father as he is. Those are big shoes to fill.
Comments