The Man Who Holds the Moment
I never knew being a dad would be so heart breaking and heart warming
My daughter was looking out the window as we drove to the competition. Nonchalantly, she said she was nervous.
Then the silence. Then her own resolution: “I’ll be okay. I prayed. And I practiced.”
Kanako and I smiled. She put in her AirPods.
It was a fantastic weekend in the making. My daughter had a two-day dance competition and my son had his first basketball tournament of the new season. One of the things I love about my life is that I am able to create all the time in the world for what I hold to be important. One aspect of time I love creating is being with my kids witnessing them doing the things they love ...
My daughter loves to dance. Oftentimes my daughter isn’t a fan of repetitive practice or stretching. Her coach (my wife) has infinite patience with her, and is very firm with her. They work together every night. (Whether my daughter is in the mood or not.)
This was her first solo competition. I loved sitting watching her practice the same song over and over. I love her choice of music and choreography. I love my daughter’s resolve.
The morning of the competition was abuzz with make-up, hair and last minute costume tucks. The ride was smooth. Kona made her peace with her nerves.
As soon as we hit the Michael J Fox Theatre, my daughter rushed to greet her friends and Vancouver Performing Stars. She was in her element. We entered the performance hall. Kona was to perform in about 20 minutes…then out of nowhere there she was.
She entered the stage with confidence. The music boomed. She owned the moment. Her motion was electric and her face was alive. She has an uncanny knowhow to perform at a level that ignites. Within three minutes it was over with a wave of applause from the crowd.
After a brief intermission to get coffee with my wife and enjoy an uninterrupted moment to connect, we returned to the venue as the award ceremony was beginning. Our daughter was awarded first place unanimously. Gold. Her friends surrounded her. Her face was lit.
I reflected on the way home as she sipped her boba, Kona didn’t need me to make her feel better as we drove to the competition. She needed me to stay steady while she found her own certainty.
This is the heartwarming part of the story.
Now for the heartwrenching part.
I love basketball. I love how much my son loves it. I love how quickly he is progressing and how he makes practice look easy. He is now in his second season with Cobra Red Elite. Now a starter.
The first tournament of the season was at my alma mater, Trinity Western University. I had not set foot in that gymnasium since graduation in 1987. It felt good to be home.
Game 1 was a late start. 7:00 PM, his normal bedtime is 8:00 PM because he thinks it will help grow taller and be stronger on the court. He started strong. Won the tip-off. Charged. Physical on D. Scored. It was a tight game. They won by 4. We were happy on the car ride home.
The next morning, after breakfast, my wife opened her laptop and began to run “game film” on game one. Not criticism, but adjustment. “Be in the key more. Be open. Be out front on offense.” My son was all in. They acted out the new moves together. All of us were excited for the next games later that day. She coaches him on the court when he is practicing between team practices and games. He listens intently and takes it all in. I love this about my wife. She helps both kids be the best they can be.
AND
….then it all fell apart. Game 2, he dropped out of sight. Hesitation. Overthinking. Trying to execute what he’d just been told instead of playing his game. He missed shots. He was not where the action was. His teammates stopped passing to him. I had my heart in my throat. It was heartbreaking.
Between Game 2 and 3, the question I faced was: How was I going to be with my son?
While his teammates were out getting snacks at Starbucks, I invited my son to watch his senior team, Cobra Black, who are just a bit more advanced than his team. (We always do this when we have a chance to learn from them.)
He’s sitting next to me. Silent. Flushed. Hurting. My wife tries to comfort him. He pushes her hand away. I don’t tell him to cheer up. I don’t tell him it’s okay. I looked at my wife knowingly and let her know it will be okay.
I say: “Let’s watch Cobra Black play. Tell me what they execute well, not so well, and if they’re going to win.”
While watching, I remind him: “Memories are a weapon. We can use bad memories against us or use them to learn. We can say we are the problem or the situation was problematic.” I let him see it: trying to execute his mom’s coaching during the game led to exactly what happened.
At the end of the game, Blacks lost. It was close. A three-pointer at 5 seconds sealed their fate. Resolve hit my son. There were times they were down by 16.
I challenged him: “Charge. Play physical. Shake off the bad performance. It doesn’t matter. Own the situation, don’t let it own you.”
Game 3, off the bat, he was confident during warm up. He was laughing with his team mates. He was back. He won the tip-off. He didn’t care about his lack of performance during the last game. He hit it hard. He was physical. He was enjoying play. He hit a three-pointer. His first in a long while. His teammates started passing to him again. His team won by 20.
Mastery.
My son is in the middle holding the flag and his medal.
My daughter held herself in the midst of my silence. My son needed me to hold him in silence. (Well, mostly in silence.) And I didn’t rush either moment.
I felt heavy, lost, and hurting for my son. Then I channeled my being and opened the possibility for him in who I knew him to be. Old Gary would have tried to make him feel better. Old Gary would have tried to give Kona a pep talk. New Gary stayed steady while they found themselves.
I didn’t need to fix either of them. I needed to be steady enough that they could find themselves.
I am connecting something across my last five posts. At the second summit, you don’t react. The man who moves doesn’t freeze. Time in Tokyo with my wife created space and a miracle for the woman I love. In this post, I hold space under pressure.
Most men rush these moments. They comfort. They fix. They coach in real-time. I used to. Now all I do is hold the space. And in that space, they find themselves.
This post is dedicated to three people who made it sing.
My partner Karen Pery, who crafted what I was sharing into a powerful, laser-focused piece.
My former client Butch Gagnon, who reached out when it was all becoming too much. I love you, Butch, and our session today was power-filled to the rim. Now go out there and create!
And finally, Repheol Wolf, who has been in my world for over a decade. I have witnessed a shift in this man that is real, palpable, and will change the world.
Are you ready, Reph?