FanNation - The Republic of Sport

   Note: this post has absolutely nothing to do with sports. If that’s a problem for you, please do us both a favor… just close this window and go on about your business. Thank you!  

    This story is about not losing sight of what really matters.  Several years ago, in the midst of my most miserable holiday season, I received a lesson in perspective from an unexpected source.  It has stayed with me ever since… as a reminder to not let temporary stresses distract too much from my holiday spirit.  I want to share that lesson with everyone here that would appreciate it. Hopefully, I will do the story justice…

   In late November of 2000, after months of bitter arguing, my wife and I were on the verge of divorce. She had moved out of our home several weeks earlier, but we agreed to reunite through the holidays.  Mostly, we were thinking of our 4-year-old daughter, Darby. We wanted to give her… all of us, really… one last Christmas together as a family. 

   A day or two after Thanksgiving, my wife and I managed to get the trees, ornaments, lights, and other assorted decorations hauled out of the closets.  Our first priority was to decorate Darby’s room.  Soon, her walls were adorned with Santa, reindeer, candy canes, and snowmen.  She had her own 3-foot artificial tree, which she painstakingly covered with every unbreakable ornament we could find.  It was a little girl’s vision of bright lights, multi-colored garland, and a gaudy collection of mismatched ornaments that defied any rational arrangement.  The only common element was unbreakable plastic.  Snowflakes and bells, elves and cartoon characters, crystalline shapes and simple monochromatic balls.  The tiny tree had at least one ornament on every limb, sometimes two, and perched atop it was a lazily-blinking red-green-and-white star.  As we stood there admiring her handiwork, Darby attached one final ornament dead-center on the front.  It was a red plastic heart, nearly the size of a tennis ball.  I chuckled a bit at the absurdity of that one big plastic heart hanging there amid the rest of the shiny trinkets.

“So…” I said, “That heart just has to be right there on the front… in the middle?”

“Yes,” said Darby, “it’s my most favorite, and I want to see it all the time.”

   I just shook my head and conceded, “Okay, baby… as long as it’s the way you want it. Mama and I are going to put the big tree together now.  You stay in here and play… and don’t knock your tree over.”

   “Okay daddy,” she said… and went back to the very important business of arranging her ornaments.  Apparently there was a pattern, but I couldn’t see it.

   In the living room, my wife and I began unpacking the huge 8-foot artificial tree and remaining ornaments.  We had barely begun assembling the great faux-Scotch Pine, and the bickering started.  Apparently I wasn’t fluffing the branches to her satisfaction.  Not in the mood for criticism, I suggested the branches would fluff out wonderfully if she began stuffing them up her…oops… “Hello, Darby. What is it?”

“Are there any more ornaments?”

“I don’t know. Why?”

“I need some more for my tree.”

“Darby, you don’t have room for more ornaments on your tree.  Now go play, please.”

“Okay.” And off she went.

   After another hour, her mother and I finished assembling the tree, sniping at each other the entire time.  As we began sorting through the ornaments, things became more heated.  She wanted a classical, elegant tree straight out of Martha Stewart Living. While I agreed it would be pretty, I was in favor of using the hand-me-down ornaments that our families had given us.  I liked the idea of the heritage… substance over style.  Standing there holding our ornaments, months of frustration began boiling over.  She looked at me incredulously.

“What, do you want some tacky nightmare like Darby’s tree?” she seethed.

“No,” I growled, “I’m not saying that!  I would just like to see a few things from our history… our family on there!”

“WHAT FAMILY?” She snapped, “This marriage is history.”

   Presumably upon hearing her name, Darby reappeared in the living room oblivious to the growing tension.  “Is the big tree done yet?”

   “No, the damn tree is not done yet.  Does it look done yet?” God help me, it was out before I even realized it was coming.

   She just stood there, staring at me with the complete hurt and confusion of 4-year-old innocence.  It was practically a whisper, “No… daddy… it’s not done yet.” 

   I slumped down into the couch, ashamed and exhausted.  “I’m sorry, Darby.  I really am.  It’s not your fault.  I shouldn’t have yelled at you.”

“Are you and mama fighting again?”

“Yes.  We’re fighting again.”

“Why? It’s almost Christmas.”

   I was beyond trying to explain the years of frustration between me and her mother, so I opted out with the simplest answer. “We can’t agree on which ornaments to use.  That’s why we’re fighting.”

“Oh…” she said, “okay.”  And off she went, back to her room.

   Her mother and I glared at each other.  I almost told her to decorate the damn tree however she wanted… I didn’t care anymore.  But before I could, Darby was coming back into the living room.  She stopped directly between her mother and me with her hands crossed over her chest, holding something precious.  She looked at both of us, her eyes determined and hopeful.

   “Mommy and Daddy, please stop fighting.” She said, “You can have my heart.”  Then she extended her arms, offering us her prized big red plastic heart from her own tree.

   There’s an emotion reserved for parents.  I’m not sure what it’s called, but you only get to experience it when your child shows you the vast difference between the person that you should be, and the person that you really are… and loves you unconditionally anyway.  It’s a crippling mixture of pride, guilt, love, and shame.  It makes your heart simultaneously swell 10 sizes and break into a million pieces.  It makes you forget to breathe.  It makes you feel incredibly small and humbled.  Choking back the lump in my throat and the burn in my eyes, I accepted her offering with a meek, “Thank you, baby.”  Looking at her mother, I saw that she was choking back tears, also.  And that fight was over...

   I wish I could tell you about Christmas miracles and second chances, but this story happened in the real world… where young and headstrong people make selfish decisions that can never be undone.  My wife packed up and left, the day after Christmas… and took Darby with her.  By June we were divorced.  Less than a year later, her mother was remarried.  Four years later, I remarried and reported to a new assignment in Georgia.  Life goes on… and there are no U-turns.

   But around this time each year, I remember the lesson my daughter taught me. The greatest gift you can give is your heart. Give it unselfishly to the ones you love most… especially when they are forgetting to give their own.

To the end of forever, Darby…

Happy holidays, everyone!  Spread some love!