Remembering a Great Day with Dad
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| Action shot of Johnny Dawkins |
I originally wrote the below in a post on my old sports blog. It was called “Remembering Charles Barkley.”
Dad and I were out for a weekend drive just to get out of the house, when he suddenly asked if I wanted to go to the Sixers’ practice. It was closed even to the press, I said, egging him on. We had been to the one win the 76ers managed against the Chicago Bulls in the 1990 playoffs the night before. Of course I wanted to go, and I knew that on rare occasions dad could be an impulsive guy who liked to do things he was told he couldn’t.
So, when we pulled up at the St. Joseph’s University field house, where the Sixers practiced, I asked dad where we were headed after they tossed us out. He laughed, and headed in. Ten minutes later, he ran out to grab my wheelchair from the trunk and get me. We were in.
Watching guys like Mike Gminsky, Johnny Dawkins, and Hersey Hawkins, warm-up just feet from me was amazing enough. Then Barkley came in . . . loudly.
My dad was impressed (as was I) when
Hersey Hawkins asked, "Is this ok?"
we took the picture. "Hawk" was one
of my favorites on the team.
Entering the field house on the opposite end, Barkley was yelling, “Front runner!” It turned out he was teasing the son of SJU’s Athletic Director Don DiJulia and nephew of Jim Lynam. (Coincidentally, Chris was a former schoolmate of mine, and, apparently, often attended practice.) Without any prompting, Barkley spoke to me and my father, and even thanked me for wearing a shirt with his likeness. Then he posed for a picture with me.
Watching Lynam run practice was a treat for a high school junior who loved the Sixers. He didn’t mince words—or spare his players’ ribs—as he demonstrated how to split defenders when caught by the Bulls’ trap. At one point, I had to stifle a laugh as Barkley’s slap of a teammate’s head echoed through the gym, reminiscent of a high school kid caught horsing around during class. True to his frequent refrain, “That’s Charles being Charles,” Lynam just kept going.
Later, Lynam talked hoops with my dad. (They had gone to the same high school.) Rick Mahorn and Hawkins posed for pictures with me after practice. Assistant coach Fred Carter, the man who gave dad permission for us to watch practice without any knowledge of my disability (dad swore), shook my hand and playfully asked if I had picked up anything they should know. And “Charles being Charles,” he made a point to say goodbye, remembering my name.
Rick Mahorn shot around after
practice for a while. His response to
the equipment manager who wanted to
leave was pretty funny. I think I'll keep
if to myself. Afterwards, he was cool
enough to take a picture with me.
I never did write the thank you note mom rightfully said I should to Fred Carter. There’s no excuse, but the way things turned out, a prompt thank you may not have gotten the job done.
The day’s significance has changed for me over the years. It turned out to be one of, if not the, last great memory I had with my dad. Not long after, Alzheimer’s disease began taking him from us at an all too young age. In fact, I believe the previous night’s game was the last sporting event I ever got to attend with my dad.
I wish I had some profound words to finish this post. I don’t. I’m just glad I have this memory of a day with my dad.
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| Not sure what happened, but I don't think I was the only one who was star struck. If he were here, I'd tell dad he choked. Never did find out what dad was doing after Charles Barkley and I actually got in position for the picture! |
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