A Father's Day message of perspective and, hopefully, finding joy in the little things

Happy Father’s Day to all you dads, father-figures, grandfathers, uncles, brothers, mentors, and generally good dudes out there today. I hope you’ve gotten everything out of today you could hope for.

I’ve thought a lot about what I can possibly write about this day. I’ve heard plenty of priests and pastors talk about the difficulty of preaching on Easter Sunday since it’s a message that has been given an infinite number of times. Their annual challenge is to somehow come up with something different for their congregation each year.

This is one of favorite holidays because social media is littered with everybody talking about why their dad is the best. I love reading everybody’s testimonials because I love seeing how wrong everybody is. MY dad is the best — and I’ll meet you on the playground after school if you care to rebut my thoughts.

This picture above is one of my favorite pictures of Dad and me. Four years ago, I flew my bride to Cleveland to watch her beloved Browns. I grabbed an extra ticket so Dad, a Browns fan himself, could drive the two hours east from Toledo to join us. While we were surrounded by tens of thousands of fans wearing brown and orange, Dad showed up in red — while also representing a local ice cream establishment from our hometown. I don’t know if that was a condition of him getting free ice cream for the year, but the walking billboard certainly did his job for the day. I may be the only person in the world that finds it funny, but to me it was hysterical.

It also showed that while his wardrobe choice can always be questioned, he’s always there for me. Always. Without fail. Unconditionally. Whether it’s going to a football game together, giving me homeowner tips on how not to electrocute myself, or giving that unsolicited advice that inadvertently changed my life, he’s been a lifesaver more times that I can count.

The past year has been a trying one for Dad — and really for our entire family. Fourteen months ago, he lost his dad. About eight months ago, he randomly lost sight in his eye when his retina detached, and he’s just now back to having normal vision. My mom is four months into her battle against breast cancer. Dad comes from a generation where you don’t normally open up about your problems, and you simply shove those problems down into your chest like a man. I know all of these curveballs life has thrown at him have affected him greatly, but he’s done his best to be strong for everyone around him — like the man we all know and admire.

One of my favorite things to do with my Dad is hug him — for two more seconds than he wants to hug me. I’m 48-years-old, and I’m going to make him comfortable hugging me if it’s the last thing I do. I do the same thing with my kids, because I always want them to know I love them to an uncomfortable level. My oldest is on her way to college in two months. I want to hug her so long that she won’t go, but I know that’s not the way life works. I just hope she knows that wherever the world takes her, she always has a home here — just like my parents did for me since I left home for good 25 years ago.

If you remember my last night on TV, I showed a picture of me sitting by the Pacific Ocean at Pebble Beach talking to my Dad. It’s another of my favorite pictures because it captured my need to share those moments with my parents. I got to do some amazing things in sports that younger-me only could have dreamed of doing. I stood on the field during warmups for Game 1 of the 1999 World Series. I got to cover a game at Cameron Indoor Stadium. I covered The Masters four times — and even got to play the Augusta National twice. Each of those times, along with that aforementioned trip to Pebble Beach, I always called my parents to thank them for paying for college. On one hand, it was certainly a joke. But on the other hand, behind the mutual chuckling at the reason for the call, I always wanted to make sure they knew how grateful I was for everything they’ve done for me to allow me to chase every professional dream I ever had.

Family can be a complicated thing. We all want the Norman Rockwell painting, but, in reality, that is a rarity. I know that firsthand. We sometimes treat family worse than anybody else in our life because they’re supposed to love us and we think they can take the abuse. That’s one of the biggest fallacies I can think of, and, in the end, that abuse can, and will, cause hurt feelings that may never be repaired. It doesn’t need to be that way.

At this point, I feel like I’ve reached the rambling portion of the program. Let me try to land this plane.

Family can be awesome. Family can also be very hard. Whether you’re the parent or the kid, take the time to cherish every moment of time you have with the other. I’ve had two former high school classmates lose parents in the last week. Until I lost my grandfather last year, I was naively optimistic he, my Dad, and I would all live forever. The mortality around me just proves I don’t have time to waste.

Dad — you’re the best. I hope I’ve made you proud.

Everybody else — I’ll gladly allow your dad to tie for first place with mine.

Oh, and if you or your dad ever make it to northwest Ohio, I know a guy that has an in to get you a good deal on bottomless ice cream.