Sports have always been a huge part of my life. Most of my fondest childhood memories involved either participating in or watching sports. In fact, my very first memory of anything is me climbing out of my crib and going to the living room to watch a Cubs game with my dad. (I credit this event with dooming me to a lifetime of sports disappointment).

Like many other kids, I started out with t-ball, advanced to little league while mixing in some basketball, football and tennis along the way. At night, I came home from school and either went to practice or shot jumpers in my driveway. The good nights were those when my dad came home from work early, and there was enough sunlight for me to convince him to grab his glove and come outside to play catch (not that I ever really needed to convince him).

I dreamt of becoming the next Nolan Ryan or Michael Jordan, but figured out pretty early that those weren’t likely future professions for me, considering my fastball topped out at about 60 mph and I couldn’t fit a magazine beneath my feet when I jumped.

That didn’t matter, because I loved everything about watching sports too.

I remember getting my very first pack of baseball cards in the summer of 1988. In that pack of Topps cards were two Andre Dawson cards, which of course made him my favorite player (that remains true to this day).  Strangely enough, I don’t remember my first trip inside Wrigley Field, but I do remember my first game ever, which took place at old Comiskey Park. My dad came home from work with tickets and asked if I wanted to go — not really establishing the fact that the Sox were our mortal enemies at the time — I was excited beyond belief. Everything about seeing a game live was magical.

My family would watch the Cubs all summer long and get to as many games as possible. Then, when the Cubs were inevitably out of the race by August, it was time for football, specifically, Notre Dame football.

At some point in my youth, I rebelled and became a fan of the Florida State Seminoles. There’s pictures of me pretty early on entrenched in Florida State gear, so I’m not sure exactly when or how this happened, but I’m pretty sure it was due to my love of Native American history when I was younger (ha!). Regardless, my dad accepted the fact that Notre Dame would never be higher than my second-favorite team, and we enjoyed the games together every Saturday.

He and I had been to Northwestern games on numerous occasions, but had never seen a Notre Dame game together until the summer of 1997. I don’t remember how we got the tickets, but there we were, in South Bend to watch a game against Michigan State. Finally witnessing everything around the campus that I had only seen before in the movies or on television was great, but being able to see that with my dad was even more special. ND ended up falling to the Spartans, but everything about that day made an indelible impression upon my life.

Our family went on vacations together every year. We went on picnics, went swimming, went for drives, dinner, etc. You name it, we did it, and we did it together, as a family.

Five years ago today, I suddenly and unexpectedly lost my dad, the man I admired and looked up to more than anything in the world. This time of year always makes me think back to how lucky I was to have him in my life — the time that I did have him — and to be thankful for all the times and events we were able to experience together. It makes me realize how great of a childhood I had and how lucky I was to have such a great dad along with a mom who continues to love me every day.

Seeing the horrifying news the past few days regarding the scandal at Penn State has driven the point home even further. While I was playing little league baseball and watching the Cubs and Notre Dame at age 10, there were other kids being abused and scarred for life in a tragedy that could not be comprehended or even believed, if not for reading the grand jury testimony against Jerry Sandusky.

While I looked at sports and going to these events as magical, there were other kids who had to go through unthinkable things, and suffer a lifetime of psychological and physical trauma. While I was playing catch with my dad in our front yard, the kids of the Second Mile charity were being assaulted, their innocence lost, their trust shattered, their lives forever changed.

Watching college students on the campus of Penn State – most of whom just a few years younger than myself — protesting the firing of a coach who turned a blind-eye to the horrible atrocities taking place around his program makes me question their very humanity. This should be a time when the football program at the college you attend becomes completely irrelevant (not to mention, the head coach, who was barely even that the past few years.)

This should be a time when you think about and look with guilt upon the place from where you’re getting your degree, and wonder how this was allowed to go on unreported for so long. Frankly, it’s a place from which I’d be looking to transfer from if I were attending.

For those kids who were the unfortunate victims of this monster — not to mention, all of those who aided and abetted him by either looking past the warning signs or flat out lying about them, altogether – they’ll never be able to look back fondly upon a childhood spent experiencing great events with a dad who cared more about them than himself. They’ll never be able to fondly remember someone who sacrificed so much to provide a childhood full of joy and innocence.

Their childhood memories will be a horror-story, scarier than any book written by Stephen King, scarier than any movie directed by Wes Craven and more tragic than just about anything we could ever imagine.

This is a time when we have to hold accountable those (adults) who are responsible for allowing such reprehensible events to not only take place, but to remain unaddressed for so long.

This is a time when we have to pray for those victims in hopes that they can somehow overcome these unspeakable actions and live as normal and productive a life as humanly possible.

This is a time to be thankful for the childhood that you were able to enjoy, and to be thankful to the people who made it possible.

For me personally, this is a time to be thankful for the fact that my childhood was a dream instead of a nightmare.

Thank you dad, for everything.

 

Follow Tim Bock @tim_bock