Father Really Does Know Best
My love of sports and a few extra lessons come from him
On this Father’s Day Weekend, “Dempsey” is top of my mind and heart :)
My dad really did know best…on just about everything.
When I was 6, watching football right beside him, he told me that I could root as loudly as I wanted, but not be disappointed if the Denver Broncos lost because, “It’s unlikely they’ll win. Prepare yourself.”
How did he know that they would lose, and that I would need to “prepare myself” as I morphed into a diehard Denver Broncos fan?
Maybe the history of our team and its talent deficit suggested the outcome.
Maybe our tough AFC West division with two talented teams — the Oakland Raiders and Kansas City Chiefs in the thick of competition — spelled the likely outcome.
Maybe it was our coach. Lou Saban spoke in monosyllables with no voice inflection. If he had a strategy, no one knew what it was. To this day, he remains the most charisma-impaired person I’ve ever witnessed.
Or maybe it was because our best player, №44 Floyd Little, was a talented running back, but lacked blocking support. Little still racked up some amazing yardage, but not many touchdowns. Teams knew how to play the Broncos in the red zone.
Still, there my dad and I sat, eyes focused on the television, as I worked to prepare myself for a disappointing outcome. Even while doing this, I was rooting loudly, hope against hope, that the Broncos might pull out a miracle win.
Now my dad approached his world with reason and logic. This was true in sports, business, and raising our family. But regarding the Broncos, he made it very simple.
He smiled at my enthusiasm and also explained to me that Steve Tensi wasn’t much of a quarterback and would limit the Broncos’ success. He would add, “While the whole team is important, there are a few key positions that you need to have. Quarterback, middle linebacker, and we need a deep threat — a wide receiver that can break open.”
He was right. Of course. What we lacked was very simple, and as much as the game has changed over the many decades since, the “what we need” words remain true. Knowing what I know now, I would have added a left tackle to protect against the blindside. Our quarterbacks were always getting sacked.
It would take many years of stout loyalty until, eventually, the Broncos, under the quarterbacking of John Elway, would win the Super Bowl. That would be Super Bowl XXXII in 1997, and sadly, by then, my father had passed away.
He had set me up, though, full of knowledge and hope, as I celebrated a way overdue championship celebration.
When I think about my dad, who has been gone for 44 years, what I most appreciate is not his love of sports or his love for us, which are more than substantial. It's his unwavering support that indeed enabled my every achievement.
He showed us what it’s like to be an underdog and win. He was all of 15 when he visited the bank and saved his immigrant parents from having their house repossessed. He and my mom married young with no resources and then had a large family.
They raised six of us, relying on the financial output of a small corner grocery store. My dad would work a long day and then come home, retreat to his bedroom to unwind, and listen to sports talk on the radio before dinner. I would inevitably knock on the door and ask if I could listen with him.
I always did. He never got this moment of quiet all to himself as I would rifle him with questions based on what we were hearing.
That was my dad — an avid sports fan, a devout family man, and an educator of everything he cared about.
But he was also more.
I grew up hearing my dad called “Dempsey” by everyone in our community. His real name was “Nathan” or “Noach,” which was his Hebrew name that my Bubbie (Yiddish for grandmother) and others might use. But for the most part, I heard “Dempsey.”
Why?
It had to do with Jack Dempsey, the famous 20th-century boxing champion. I learned that my dad grew up in something akin to a shtetl, a small Jewish neighborhood in Denver.
The neighborhood was proximal to an unfriendly territory that didn’t like Jews. Fights would erupt as the Jewish kids were picked on. Evidently, my dad was the best fighter of the group, earning him the name “Dempsey.” He didn’t let anyone intimidate him, and he fought hard for his place and for his friends in a neighborhood they considered their home.
Everyone who grew up with my dad remembered his guts and strength. While he was an exceptionally kind and gentle man, who would tear up every time one of his six children headed off to college, he was also tough and strong when needed.
The ability to possess strength alongside a gentle soul was a valuable lesson for his kids.
We learned to stand our ground and never count ourselves out. We understood that so much of winning was about understanding the odds, then putting one’s best foot forward and fighting like hell.
I looked at my dad, who had no financial advantages and worked hard to serve his community and his family. I knew this plain and simple:
Champions are built from the inside.
Each of my siblings developed a love of sports. Many of us were active in our athletic pursuits. I was a gymnast, then a swimmer, and now a tennis player.
We would spend weekends playing basketball or touch football.
We never won as much as we would like, but then we had my dad as our shining example of fighting your hardest while maintaining moral clarity.
We knew not to play dirty.
We didn’t call in-balls out.
We never counted ourselves out, no matter how big the talent deficit. I would sometimes surprise myself on the tennis court and say to myself, “Thank you, Dad.”
On this Father’s Day, I will share with my kids and grandkids the lessons of their Zayda (Yiddish for grandfather). After that, maybe we’ll shoot hoops. My dad had a wicked hook shot that not one of his kids could replicate.
That’s okay, though.
His other lessons have stuck.
What a beautiful tribute to a father who led with quiet strength and unwavering love. The lessons he left you with, grit, fairness, and heart, are the kind that echo for generations. I hope your Father’s Day is filled with sweet memories and a few good hook shots in his honor.
Lovely piece. Thanks for sharing!