NEVER IN NOTHING

Dear Spike:

Your mother began the school year with a classroom of 25 students, many of whom didn't speak English and most of whom had never had a book read to them, much less ever owned one.

She fretted. She cried. She wondered whether she was the right teacher for the job.

But she didn't run away. She didn't say no. And when she was advised to simply treat her kindergarteners as pre-schoolers, she declined.

Yesterday, the students' test scores came in. Almost all of them are reading on grade level.

Winston Churchill said it best: "Never give in. Never give in. Never, never, never, never-in nothing, great or small, large or petty — never give in."

Love,
dad

THE BIGGEST THING

Dear Spike:

OK, so it’s official. You’re really small.

How small? Well, if this is a chart showing the range of height and weight for four-month old babies...

...

...

...

...

...

you...

...

...

...

...

... show up on the chart right down here.



This, of course, wasn't unexpected. The first time we took you to get weighed at the doctor's office, you weighed less than four and a half pounds.

Two months later, you were up to eight and a quarter — big to us, but small overall.

Now, at 10 pounds and five ounces, you’re still smaller than some newborns. But when we visited Dr. Schriewer on Friday, she seemed content that you’re developing in all the most important ways. And that, of course, is what matters to us.

Chances are that you’ll catch up, size wise, in due time — though it’s unlikely you’ll ever be the biggest kid in your class.

But that’s fine by me. Because it doesn’t matter how tall you stand, or how much you weigh.

Because you’re absolutely, positively the biggest thing in my world.

Love,
dad

THE BEAUTIFUL GAME

Dear Spike:

Tonight, we took you to your first soccer contest.

It was a heartbreaking ordeal. The referee was lousy. The home team’s coach got red carded. And then, with less than a minute to play in what seemed destined to be yet another scoreless draw for Real Salt Lake, the team gave up a goal to lose the game 0-1.

A woman after my own heart, you showed your displeasure by screaming all the way home.

We humans are passionate about our professional sports clubs. Teams are a point of identification, community and culture — another place to find one’s place in our all-too-frequently placeless world.

But with all the joys, be warned: At times your team will play lousy. And at times they’ll make you wonder why you spend your money to watch them play.

And even for the fans of the best teams in the world, most seasons end with disappointment. There is, after all, only room for one World Series Champion, for one Super Bowl winner, for one Stanley Cup holder.

And so you may simply decide to be a connoisseur of sports: To watch and enjoy and appreciate a beautiful game being played beautifully. To marvel at the endurance, finesse and resiliency of the human body. To be staggered by brilliant performances, regardless of the color of the performer’s uniform.

I found myself in Germany last summer as the World Cup was being played. Wedded to only one of teams in the tournament (and alas, the U.S. side played poorly and quickly was eliminated) there was plenty of time left to simply enjoy “the beautiful game” being played on its grandest stage.

And yet, as I entered the stadium at Kaiserslautern to watch Trinidad against Paraguay, I felt compelled by the drums, singing and costumes of the Trinidadian fans and by their passion for the “Soca Warriors.” And when, a week later, I found myself in the middle of the Saudi Arabian cheering section for a Saudi-Spain match, I was enchanted into cheering for the Middle Eastern underdogs.

Yes, there will be heartache — nights like tonight. And lots of them.

But you cannot dream in neutrality. So it goes in sports. So it goes in life.

Accept the heartbreak and the hurt. Choose. And cheer.

Love,
dad

YOU'RE SO SMALL

Dear Spike:

You're so small, I could take you to lunch in a pail...


You didn't even come close to fitting into the outfit we'd planned on bringing you home in...


Your hand is the size of a quarter...


And you look so tiny in your cradle...


But you fill my heart...


Love,
dad

HEART MAY TELL

Dear Spike:

The e-mail came at 4 p.m. from my friend, Liz. Her kids were starting a new soccer season. And she was wondering if I was interested in coaching.

Just one catch... “The games start tonight.”

You’re going to make a lot of decisions in this life. Sometimes you’ll make those decisions based on a lot of thought, discussion, prayer and contemplation. And sometimes you’ll just let your heart decide.

For me, the latter method of decision making seems to work out about as much as the former. Indeed, the two best decisions I ever made were made with a whole lot of heart and not much of anything else.

I didn’t do too much thinking before asking your mother to marry me. One day, I just decided I was going to ask her. And that was that.

And we didn’t do too much thinking before we decided to have you. One day, I came home and said ‘let’s have a baby.’ And that was that.

I’m not advising that you always — or even often — make important decisions without a fair amount of contemplation. By and large, that’s probably not the best way to do business.

But not every decision is as as important or life-altering as getting married or having a child.

Someday, your heart may tell you to dance. So dance.

Someday, your heart may tell you to climb a mountain. So climb.

And someday, your heart may tell you to quit a job. So quit.

Today my heart told me to take on a new soccer team. And so by 6:30 p.m., I was on the field with my new team.

Train your heart to make beautiful decisions by letting it make small decisions. When it comes time to make the big ones, your heart will know what to do.

Love,
dad

FILL THE ROOM

Dear Spike:

Wonderful news on your little ticker today: Dr. Stewart told your mother she shouldn't bother, any longer, with coming into the hospital for her hitherto twice-weekly checkups of your heart.

The doctor says it looks just fine.

The message came just a few hours before we were supposed to meet at the hospital. And I admit I was a bit disappointed.

I did so love seeing you on that ultrasound screen and hearing your heartbeat fill the room.

Tra-da-dup---tra-da-dup---tra-da-dup---tra-da-dup.

Love,
dad

YOUR LITTLE TICKER

Dear Spike:

I’m sitting in a rocking chair in a room on the labor and delivery floor at LDS Hospital, listening to your tiny heart fill the room with a sound like a horse galloping through wet sand.
Tra-da-dup---tra-da-dup---tra-da-dup---tra-da-dup.
In front of me, your mother is in the bed with a belt around her belly. The belt is connected to a computer by two wires — one to let us hear your little ticker, the other to let us see an image of its progress. Right now you’re hammering away at about 140 beats per minute — just the right pace — but it has slowed down a few times today and that has the doctors a bit concerned.
They assure us that it is likely nothing to worry about, but we’re going to watch it just to be safe.
Meanwhile, we wait. And as we do, I get to listen to the most beautiful sound in the world.
Tra-da-dup---tra-da-dup---tra-da-dup---tra-da-dup.

Love,
dad