The Dream, The Duty
“For I know the plans I have for you, declares the Lord, plans for welfare and not for evil, to give you a future and a hope.” —Jeremiah 29:11
Two pivotal events turned our once-tolerable home into a battleground. By high school, I was an All-American athlete, a blue-chip prospect excelling in three sports, with NCAA Division One colleges knocking on my door. On the baseball field, I hurled the ball with pinpoint precision, and when I made contact, it exploded off my bat, soaring over fences and into the stands. On the football field, I was a force of nature, delivering bone-crushing tackles that left opponents reeling. On the wrestling mat, my speed and strength allowed me to dominate with ease.
But baseball—that was my true love. From my T-ball days, I was a standout. Fathers of other players lingered after games just to watch me play, and as I advanced into high school, my following grew even larger.
My father took immense pride in my athletic achievements, especially in baseball. It wasn’t just pride—it was his dream. His boyhood ambition of becoming a professional baseball player lived on through me. By the end of my freshman year, college recruiters were already lining the sidelines, scrutinizing every pitch, every swing, every tackle—every move I made.
To my father, there was no acceptable path for me but sports. But I wanted something more—adventure, exploration, a chance to serve something greater than myself. The US Army recruiting slogan, “Be all that you can be,” sparked something within me. It spoke to my protective instincts, to something deeper. And my hero—the man who inspired my desire to wear the uniform—was someone other than my father. That widened the chasm between us, as I admired another man for qualities I wished my father possessed.
The disappointment etched into my father’s face was unmistakable. His shoulders slumped, and for a moment, he looked like a man whose dreams had been crushed all over again. I had shattered his hopes of seeing me thrive in a sport—the way he once hoped for himself.
The tension between us was undeniable, and from that moment on, our relationship began to deteriorate. I wasn’t about to let him live his dream through me. My path was already chosen—my future lay in serving my country. I was going to join the Army.
And still, behind it all, her voice found me.
She comes in over the top of it now, as I tell it. Over the slammed doors and the bottle on the counter and my father’s voice coming through a wall—and the whole house drops to nothing, the way a television goes when somebody pulls the cord out of the wall.
That is what she does. She doesn’t argue with the memory. She turns its volume off.
“Come to me. I need you. You need me.”
That voice. Each time, a little louder. A little clearer.
And soon enough, I would know who.