the button-hook

Joy is the subject of the first chapter in my book (which can be pre-ordered now BTW). This story illuminates my complicated origin as an athlete and as a joy-seeker.

Our yard was big…and private. I remember the knotted ground riddled with stubborn roots. The brick chimney served as a rebound wall for tennis balls and soccer volleys. It was in the shadow of that chimney I learned to play football.

I wanted to be on his team. Only members of his team got to share his secret. His back would face our opponents, my siblings, and for those few minutes I was important and special. He laid out our secret plan on an outstretched palm that mesmerized me. I watched him trace an imaginary pattern as he explained how to translate his palm-plan to my yard-running. His favorite play, which turned out to be the secret play he devised with all of us, was the button hook. I was to head straight at the opponent and turn just before I got to them.

“The ball will be there, before you turn around,” he’d remind me. I loved that play: the predictable surprise. Too much else in my world with him was unpredictable or maddening disappointment.

Not the button-hook.

He delivered those passes with pinpoint accuracy, and I wanted nothing more than to catch the ball. I knew the fragility of this connection. I had the responsibility to finish the play, and I wanted desperately to do that. If I could make the catch, I would unleash joy for a moment. I would clutch the ball, he would smile, his playmaking hand would gently pat my back, and the connection would be complete.

Then there would be the times I dropped the ball.

“Oh, I hit you in the wrong place,” he’d jest, “next time I’ll try not to hit your hands.”

He wasn’t mean, but I was crushed nonetheless. All I wanted was to bring him joy. To evoke his pride and in the end validate my own value.

Thank God I got better at catching, and throwing, and kicking, and shooting. The blessing of athleticism formed who I became. I sometimes wonder what would have happened to me if I hadn’t been athletic. If I couldn’t strive for that one connecting point I had with my dad, we wouldn’t have had anything else to talk about and I might have chosen a less constructive activity to get his attention.

My dad’s hands caught me running away from him in a tantrum and spanked me once when I was small. They shook from alcohol withdrawal while he coached my basketball team as a middle-schooler, they flipped off soccer referees who incessantly called that dang offside call, and they waved away parents or high school administrators as they escorted him out of the gym or off a field.

The button hook happened on my dad’s hands too. It was, quite possibly, the play that changed the trajectory of my entire life. That’s because it was, and always will be, a direct line to joy and chasing joy creates our life stories.

Pre-order now. Publishing Feb, 2025