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A Lifelong Love Affair With the Lovable Losers

A little boy needs a dad. It’s that simple. When a dad chooses not to be a part of a boy’s life, the child clings to hope that one day he’ll understand why he made the choice to leave. Those little boys tend to latch on to something that makes them feel a connection with their paternal vagabond. Kind of like wishing on a shooting star or pitching a penny into a fountain.

I was that little boy, and my shooting star was the Chicago Cubs.

wrigley-field

It all started around 1989. I never knew why my father quit coming around, but I knew it didn’t feel right. He was a native of Chicago and had grown up there before moving to Arkansas and meeting my mother. When I got “The One and Only More or Less Official Cubs Party Album and Rally Starter” cassette tape in the mail, I was a little confused. My mom explained to me that my father was a huge Cubs fan and, looking for that connection, I dove right in. It was one of my most prized possessions—until I received my VHS copy of “The Boys of Zimmer,” and later “Chicago and the Cubs: A Lifelong Love Affair.”

I listened to that tape and watched those videos over and over again. I even forced my friends to watch them with me. I was ate up with the Cubs. He sent me a few t-shirts in the mail as well. My favorite was a pinkish colored “Bleacher Bums” shirt. During those long hot summers of my youth, I cherished those Harry Caray and Steve Stone broadcasts on WGN. Andre Dawson, Jody Davis, Mark Grace, Shawn Dunston, Greg Maddux, George Bell, Luis Salazar, Sammy Sosa, and my all-time favorite, Ryne Sandberg—these were the names I grew up with, and I’ll never forget them.

The outfield ivy set the bait. Harry Caray reeled me. Those blue pinstripes got me in the boat. It was the perfect storm for a young kid looking for a connection to get completely and thoroughly obsessed. I didn’t care about World Series appearances and the win/loss column back then. I just enjoyed watching the Cubs play baseball.

wrigley-field-ivy

As I grew older the fire never died. I made it through all the horrible years. Struggled through the “meh” years. Contained my excitement in 2003 and 2008. I researched the curse of the goat. The history of Wrigley Field. Tinkers to Evans to Chance. I found out that the Cubs were basically the team to beat in the early 1900’s. Why Ernie Banks is one of the most underrated players in MLB history. In an Arkansas sea of Cardinals fans, I stood out like a sore thumb. I can still count on one hand how many true blue fans I know.

My wife and I took our maiden voyage to Wrigley Field in 2011. What a dump—and I wouldn’t want it any other way. The nostalgia oozed from that place like nothing I’ve ever felt before. The organ, the ivy (even though it wasn’t green yet), the scoreboard. I cried when Jody Davis sang the 7^th inning stretch. I laughed when the locals cussed Marmol in the bathroom for blowing the save. It was more special than I ever could have dreamed, even in a loss.

2016-cubs

As the years piled on I began to think about my biological father less and less. But I never could turn on a Cubs game without a passing thought. I tried off and on to find him, and I finally did sometime around 2015. I realized that I wouldn’t be able to salvage even a fraction of a relationship with him, and I closed the book on that part of my life.

This year, we took our 2 boys to St. Louis to watch their first Cubs game, a Kyle Hendricks gem where he took a no-hitter into the 9^th inning. I watched them take it all in, and it was humbling for me to share that experience with them—the same one I had wanted to experience when I was close to their age.

Baseball has been, and always will be, a big part of my life. I don’t know if I owe that much to my father or not. But if I do, I’m grateful to him for it. This year I started to notice that my thoughts didn’t wander near as much while checking the score of the game or watching it on television. I’ve got my own kids to nurture and teach now, and I don’t have time to worry about the non-existent relationship with my biological father. But, I’d be lying if I didn’t acknowledge one thing. After Russell to Baez to Rizzo sealed the deal for our trip to the World Series, a small, tearful smile came over my face along with this message to my father…

“I hope you are enjoying this as much as I am.”

Marrying a Woman is Easy–Being a Husband Is Not

If you’re a man who just read this title expecting to find a shoulder to cry on because of your tough life then you are going to be in for a big disappointment. This is not a whine-fest. This is a reality check. Divorce rates are climbing at an alarming rate while family stability is falling even faster. A family doesn’t mean as much as it did 50 years ago. If you don’t believe me then just take a trip to Wal-Mart–back talking adolescents, half-naked teenage girls, abusive and angry young men. The downfall of the family doesn’t rest completely on the shoulders of men. However, if you think you are doing enough to keep your marriage together then you already have the wrong attitude.

The first couple of years of my marriage were some of the best times of my life. We were young, madly in love, and eager to start our little family and embark on the American dream. We used to have couples tell us, “I wish we could be like you guys. Y’all are so happy and love each other so much.” Maybe hearing those things got to my head. Maybe people applauding me for being a good dad fertilized my subconscious ego. Maybe working 60 hours a week made me feel like a hero. One thing is for sure–I took my wife for granted over and over and over again. It’s all so clear to me now, but it could be too late for me. If you are still reading this, PLEASE KEEP READING. While I am trying to save my marriage, maybe you can take something from this to use in your own.

The word selfishness is ugly. We can be quick to throw it around when talking about other people, but the thought of characterizing ourselves as such rarely crosses our mind. I’m guilty. Now that I can look back objectively on the past, I cringe at how selfish I really was. I’ve never been a bad husband, but I’ve never been a good one either. I’ve been a good person, but that isn’t enough. When my wife would beg for my affection I would think, “What the heck? I already do this and this and this.” Guess what–it’s not enough. And the fact that I was thinking like that just confirms how selfish I was. I work like a dog. I spend time with my children. This is what I’m supposed to do, right? Yes–along with a host of other things.

An apple a day keeps the doctor away. But an apple a day can also keep your wife happy. She needs these things from you every single day. You owe them to her as her husband. There may be days that you can get away without selling out to this idea. Don’t risk it! Man-up and remember why you married her in the first place.

Adoration

Protection

Provision

Leadership

Emotion

Adoration. “Frequent and devoted love.” That doesn’t mean you love her every now and then–love her all the time. Unconditionally. Telling her every day is important, but showing her daily is the key. Words lose their meaning if they don’t mesh with your actions. Holding her hand in public tells everyone else she is yours. Holding her hand when no one is watching tells her she is yours. Hug her tight. Kiss her often. Go to bed when she does. Make love to her. Leave her notes. Surprise her with flowers. The list is endless, but the point is to never let her question how deep your love is.

Protection. “Preservation from injury or harm.” Would you stand in front of that bullet for her? You should, but it goes further than just physical protection. She gave you her heart on her wedding day and it is your responsibility to safely keep it in your possession. Don’t let addictions grab hold and strangle your relationship. Don’t put yourself in situations in which you may do something you regret. Take care of your body and mind and don’t let anything endanger her or your kids’ physical or emotional security. Pledge to keep her safe until you breathe your final breath.

Provision. “The providing of something, especially of food or other necessities.” This one is important but don’t fall into the trap that I did. It is your duty to make sure your wife and family are housed, fed, and provided with the things they need to accomodate the quality of life you promised them. Go to work every day and use her as your inspiration to perform well. She deserves the fruits of your labor. If you are out of work, swallow your pride and do what is necessary to keep the family afloat. Even if she works, the ultimate responsibility lies on your shoulders to provide financially.

Leadership. “An act of leading; guidance; direction.” Did you notice there is nothing in that definition about being a boss? Guide your family and be the anchor that holds it steady through the rough times. Just as in providing, your wife has every right to share in the decision making process. As a husband you have the duty of establishing a concrete moral foundation for your family to stand on. Be strong and never waiver in the things in which you believe. Consult with her on everything and don’t shy away from making the tough decisions that are imminent over a long and healthy marriage.

Emotion. “Any of the feelings of joy, sorrow, fear, hate, love, etc.” If you can’t be emotionally transparent with your wife, then you who can you share with the myriad of feelings that encompasses our lives. Laugh with her. Cry with her. Mourn, rejoice, and fume with her. Never let her have to question how or what you are feeling. Realize that she probably sees the world from a completely different angle than you do. Holding back your feelings and giving her nothing is one of the cruelest things you can do to someone you love.

And here’s the kicker–you have to do all of these things. Every woman is different and you may have to focus more on one aspect than another. At some point, though, your wife is going to need all of these things from you. It’s a lot of work, but dang–is it not worth it? I’d give anything to retrace my steps and put these priciples into place. I never quit loving her but I did put my own satisfaction ahead of her happiness. Do you see the viscious cycle that causes? My short term happiness could potentially result in a lifetime of regret and unfulfillment.

I can’t tell you how much better I feel about my life after I realizing how selfish I really was. If things don’t work out for me, at least I have made changes in my own life that will benefit me down the road. If the winds of fortune allow me another opportunity to prove my love, I will never, ever let it grasp through my hands. Please take the advice of a man whose whole life is hanging in the balance.

When Two Words Are All You Need

I’ve had a few people ask me if “A Letter to my DNA Provider” had reached its intended audience. I wrote that letter straight off the cuff in one sitting and I really hadn’t put any thought into whether or not he would read it. I certainly didn’t consider what his reaction would be if he did. After I published it and noticed it racking up the view counts (many more than I ever dreamed), I said to myself, “Wow, he’s going to read this.” My stomach turned with anxiety. Part nerves and part excitement. It was like being on the free throw line at the end of the game and knowing you were going to be either the hero or the goat. But it had already been published. You have to take the shot.

After almost a month of over 1600 views and much discussion, I transferred the thought of him reading the post to the back of my mind. I even conceded that if he did read it, I would never know about it. He wouldn’t comment. He wouldn’t openly subject himself to that much criticism in a public forum. Maybe he’ll send me an email. Maybe he won’t do anything at all.

Two nights ago, when I should have been sleeping, I was browsing Facebook on my phone and a notification popped up at the top of the screen for just a couple of seconds. I glanced up to see the words, “Scott Griffin has replied to your post on WordPress.” The anxiety came back, but this time it was almost to the point of nausea. I stayed on the same page thinking that maybe if I didn’t acknowledge that I had seen the notification it would be as if it never happened. I didn’t move a muscle for five minutes. I knew if I opened and read that comment I would get no sleep.

There was no option. I had to open it. It had an answer in there. It may not be what I’m looking for but it is something. And I have to find out what it is.

The comment and my reply can be found here. I don’t know what I was expecting. Sunshine? Rainbows? An apology? Acceptance? I truly don’t know. What I got was a reply from a man who felt like he had been backed into a corner by a crowd of people he doesn’t know. In his words he was tried, convicted, and crucified by a group of people who only had one side of a story. He thought he was being judged. He went on the defensive. He made it about himself. How many dads out there would shut out a son who is actively trying to incorporate them into their life? I mean, he expects me to believe that I was “ripped” away from him but just dismisses my attempt to reconnect because a bunch of people he doesn’t know and won’t ever meet had some harsh words to say about him? Woooooooosh!

Those last two sentences will probably linger with me for some time. “So you can move on with your good life, chapter closed.” Not so fast. You DO NOT get to go out that way. Let me be clear here, “move on” is not an option because I never stopped moving. My life has been and will be good regardless of whether you are in it or not. You are just an un-credited extra in the movie of my life who refused to show up for his big audition. That’s it. And don’t try to ride out on your white horse and act like you are doing this for me. You know what I want. I’ve spent far too long trying to milk out some kind of relationship with you. You’ve made your choice, and thus I’ve made mine. When I think about you from time to time during the rest of my life, I will always be reminded of those two words that you left me with. The door that kept closing in my face every time I tried to peek through has officially been locked. And dead-bolted. Sealed. Boarded up. Those two words tell me all I need to know.

The end.

A Letter to my DNA Provider

Hello,

My name is Scottie. Of course, you know that. It is, after all, the name you gave me. Well, actually that name was James Scott Griffin, Jr. But just as my predecessor, I prefer answering to the middle name. Mom always said I would grow out of that, but here I am at 31 years old and it hasn’t happened yet.

I look like you. A lot. I’m bigger and bulkier than you, they say, but the resemblance is undeniable. More specifically, my lips and nose come straight from you. I’ve been told the way I carry myself and many of my mannerisms are a spot-on replication of yours. Mom used to remind me of this when she needed to get a rise out of me. Blackmail, of sorts. Even the way I eat my french fries has been compared to you.

Obviously this is all just here-say. I mean, I’ve never actually sat down and ate french fries with you. I don’t know how your face responds when you feel angry. Hell, I couldn’t even tell you how tall you are. These are things I’ve always wondered, things I imagine I will always ponder.

There are a few things I do know about you. You are extremely intelligent and even graduated high school when you were 16. You’re an accomplished bowler. You are a world-class sports fan. I have also heard that it was extremely out of character for you run out on your family. I enjoy hearing little quips about you, but it still fails to bring the puzzle together for me.

Look, I’m not mad. Not anymore. I went through a stage in my early twenties where I thought I would hunt you down and put you in a corner and figure out just why on Earth you would ever walk out on your family. I’d get stern and demand answers. A real tough guy. People grow, though. We learn and gain knowledge in stages. It’s probably good that we do that. Having all the answers at an early age could prove both dangerous and boring.

Now I just yearn for that knowledge of who I really am. How am I wired? What were my grandparents like? How have you been? Who ARE you? What made you decide to leave? I was only 18 months old when you decided to part ways with your family. I couldn’t wait until my son was 18 months old because I had convinced myself there was something in my DNA that would make me leave when he hit that age. When it came and passed, I felt like a huge burden had been lifted.

You weren’t completely absent over the years. I vaguely remember my early years birthday parties. There was the basketball game you took me to. I still remember every little detail about that night. There was another time mom took me to your mother’s house and we visited briefly. Oh, and the bowling alley. How could I forget the bowling alley?

I must have been 19 or 20, just enjoying a night out on the town with some friends. While I was walking out of the alley I saw you as you were walking in. I didn’t even think you were around here anymore. Or maybe you were visiting, I don’t know. But I knew it was you, and you knew it was me. I was wearing a fresh Chicago Cubs hat, a symbol of an undying love for that city and that team. A love that was fostered by a wayward father who would send remnants of them back home to Arkansas so they could share a small piece of love for the same thing. I waited for you to make the first move. But you didn’t. You glanced my way and kept walking in. Talk about twisting the dagger.

Oddly enough, I think the fact that I do have an image of you in my head and I do have some kind of semblance of voice makes it that much harder. It makes the itch scratch that much deeper. You see, I know just enough about you to drive me crazy.

It’s not all bad, though. The void that you left was filled by an amazing man who until I die will be known as “dad.” When he changed my last name, it, unbeknownst to me, opened up a new avenue on the road map of my life. I gained two sisters whom I love dearly. He provided to me a meaningful life and afforded me every opportunity possible to succeed.

It also gave me direction. I didn’t quite know which way to go. Honestly, I still don’t. But you can rest assured that I do know which route to avoid. When I tuck my boys in at night, there is always an instance where I try to imagine life without or away from them. This feeling doesn’t last for a full second, but is super-intense. I get clarification every night within myself that I will never willingly be away from my kids.

Finally, it’s not my intention to paint you as a monster. I’ve run every scenario possible through my head and there isn’t a single one I can justify in my head as to why you weren’t around. You have your reasons, and I probably wouldn’t be satisfied with them anyway. I’m not looking for a reason. Or an excuse. Or an explanation. I simply want to know you.

So, Scott Griffin, if you are out there and stumble across this letter, know that you are the intended recipient. Know that I’m not going to judge, demean, or interrogate you. I only want to know you better and for you to know me. I want to show you pictures of your descendants and tell you about my wife. My youngest son looks a lot like you. Let’s talk about the Cub’s chances of winning a pennant in 2015. Do I have any brothers or sisters? What is the best poker room in Vegas? It’s such a short life that we live, would you like to be a part of mine?

Sincerely,

Your DNA Recipient,

Scottie Stone

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