Face in the Picture Part #2

From last week:

The excitement of football can mask a lot of pain. So Buzz and Christa hid their pain in a run to the state title game. With 38 seconds left, the Warriors missed a state title by less than a foot when a gust of wind blew the field goal wide.

That year for Christmas, Buzz received a Christmas card from his team. It simply said, “Next year, we promise.” Buzz sat in a darkened living room and read the card.  In spite of the sympathy and the good wishes of his team and friends, his world was dim.  There was a foreboding that seemed to be lurking in the darkness of his soul, and it wasn’t just the crushing loss of his wife.  He looked at the darkened nativity and thought, “Maybe next year.  Maybe next year the pain and loneliness would subside.  Maybe next year.”

During the spring Christa started playing softball.  She had her dad’s competitive nature and her mom’s cat-like reactions.  In softball she began to come into her own.  Once season was over and through the summer and even in the fall she trained tirelessly.  There were two results, she was becoming a great athlete in her own right and she became extremely close to her softball coach.  

That year, as men accustomed to winning often do, Buzz compartmentalized his life.  The pain and worrisome feelings were in one box, football in another.  On the first day of spring practice he gave his “there are no review mirrors on a football helmet” speech.  Determined that the past, not even his own, would not cripple the present, he focused on discipline, hard work, and flawless execution.   And it paid off, the team delivered on their Christmas card promise winning a state title with a 14-1 record.

But Christmas that year was the worst yet. Christa had wanted to go with her softball coach’s family skiing over Christmas.  Buzz declined the invitation on Christa’s behalf saying that Christa needed to be home.  She was home, but only in the technical sense of the word.  Christmas day she didn’t come out of her room until almost noon and took her gifts when her dad wasn’t watching and disappeared.  It seemed the only thing darker and colder than the nativity set was Christa herself. Once upon a time she could open up and be friendly and charming to everyone, but even that was changing.  She was still courteous, except to her dad, but others noticed she was becoming more sullen. Both Christa and Buzz were heartbroken about the distance that was growing between them.

Both buzz and Christa were glad when Christmas break was over and they could return to the routine of school and work.  Buzz was about to embark on a year that he would wish he could erase from the record books.  Winning a state title with a senior heavy team means that defending that title is going to be difficult.  But Buzz had never had problems with his players like he did that year.  Beginning with spring practice to the last game of the season, they were his team of underachievers.

He confided to a friend, “I think I have lost it. I can’t reach my players.  Dadgum, I can’t even reach my own daughter.”  In some ways Buzz felt like giving up.  He felt like Christa had final drifted beyond his reach; the gloom that settled over their home was pulling his life out.  His thoughts would drift back to when Sandy was still alive and everything was good.  Melancholy would descend and Buzz would look at the review mirror of his past and give up on today. 

So when Christa asked or announced her plans for Christmas, rather than fight, he allowed Christa to go with her softball coach and family on a Christmas ski trip. By 10 am Christmas day, Buzz had put away the nativity scene and its light, thrown out the Christmas cards and put Christa’s gift on her bed to await her return. Buzz had never been so alone before; so, by noon, he was in his office planning the fall campaign. As he made notes on the yellow legal pad he read again the sign over his desk, “There are no rearview mirrors on a football helmet.” Besides football, what did he have?

Christa played lights out ball that spring, winning a place on the all-state team and getting the attention of some college scouts.

During Christa’s senior year of high school all that she and her dad shared was a last name and an address; it was as if there was a cold war being fought.  Buzz had successfully put the pain of his relationship with Christa in a box that did not adversely effect his coaching.  That fall the Warriors went to state, but were beaten soundly for the state championship.

Christa and Buzz made a pretense of a family Christmas that year, even making plans to join friends for supper.  But, by 11 that morning, the pretense was gone. A spat about nothing and Christa was off to friends and Buzz was back at his office wondering what idiot came up with, “There are no rearview mirrors on a football helmet.”

Christa had the kind of senior season that brought in the scholarship offers, even a couple for larger universities. Buzz hoped and prayed for reconciliation with Christa.  But it never happened. Graduation came and went and still the distance was there. If she was at home that summer, she was in her room packing, but mostly she was at work or with friends.

On Friday, a week before the first game, Buzz came in from practice to find Christa sitting on the trunk of her car. It was packed to the gills. He got out of the truck and walked over.

Christa started. “Here!” She handed him her house, truck, and office keys. “I’m going.”

“Which scholarship did you accept?”

“I’m not going to college. I’m not playing sports. I’m not being anyone’s daughter. I’m 18. It is my time to be me,” she exploded.

“How will I get in touch with you?”

“You won’t. If I want to talk, I’ll get a hold of you.”

“Where are you going? What are you going to do?”

“I’m going to Atlanta, maybe Charlotte, and I’m going to be me.”

With that, she got in her car and drove off.  Buzz walked into the house, to Christa’s room, put her stuff on her desk, lay down on her bed and experienced a new level of isolation and sorrow.

Buzz briefly contemplated going after her. But knew her well enough to know that would never work. She was gone and nothing on earth could make her come back.

As long as he thought about football, he didn’t notice the sorrow so much.  So that is what he did now.  Ever since the first day of spring practice, Buzz knew this was a very special team. But Buzz buried himself in his work. It was how he kept from obsessing about Christa.

To be continued….