On Becoming a Super - Part 9: Brad's Act Two
March 8, 2020

     Brad and I were married for over seven years before I ever saw him cry.  The first time was in late 2011, as the end of the Big 12 Championship football game was playing out on TV, and it was clear that Oklahoma State was going to win.  It was a big moment for Brad, and for all Oklahoma State football fans, who are used to following a solid football program, with consistent Top 25 rankings and post-season bowl appearances, but whose beloved Cowboys had missed out on a championship for decades.  Brad's former teammate, Mike Gundy, had coached this particular team up to their shot – and they took it.  And the tears rolled.

     So that's what it takes, I thought.  This is what it takes to bring my husband to tears.  I need to talk to this Gundy guy, I thought.   Tell him I'd like him to stir up some more of that magic, please.

    It's not that Brad is not sensitive.  To the contrary, he is quite emotionally attuned and well-rounded, refreshingly so.  He loves Jane Austen movies, for Pete's sake, and will talk about the interpersonal dynamics between the characters in those stories with as much enthusiasm and alacrity – and in as much detail – as he'll talk about a sequence of plays in a particular football game.  And this man coached college football for four years, which is to say, he can talk about play sequences and strategies ad nauseum.  So if you want to talk until you're blue in the face about the emotional tension between Elizabeth Bennet and Mr. Darcy, he's your guy.  Every day.  Twice on Sunday . . . right after this next series of pro football plays, which he needs to watch in order to keep tabs on his fantasy football team.
          
    But he won't cry over a good story, or much of anything else.  He might tear up at the predictable moments, and start pacing the room while breathing deeply and cross-punching his own broad shoulders, but he won't actually cry.  That's where he draws the line.

    Or did, until Emma came along.  The Big 12 Championship game was just a primer, it turns out – the signal that he had it in him.  The real tears rolled after I had been in labor for nearly 24 hours trying to give birth to our first baby, Emma Coretta, and the nurses finally handed her to him, all purply and screaming.  Through my own exhaustion, I looked up at him looking down at her, a tiny baby girl in his great big hands.  His tears were in full flow.  It was like he was coming home to himself for the first time, for real, understanding who he was meant to be and what he was meant to do.  He had just become a Daddy, and that realization, the weight of it, was settling on him like a mantle.  Like a cape.

    Fast forward seven-and-a-half years, and Brad doesn't watch as much football as he used to.  With three kids, two professional careers, and a budding farmstead, football has receded into the background somewhat.  If you do catch him watching a football game these days, there's a good chance he'll be folding little people pajamas or rolling little people socks at the same time.  (One of our divisions of labor at our house is Mom does the "household" laundry – towels and bedding – Dad does the kid laundry, and we each do our own laundry separately.  It works for us.)  Or he'll stream the Sports Animal, an Oklahoma-based sports radio show, on his phone while inoculating mushroom logs, applying compost to the garden, or feeding the chickens.  Or he'll catch some sports commentary during his commute to the clinic where he currently works as a nurse.  Or he'll turn on ESPN in the background while we team up to make a big breakfast of eggs, bacon, fried potatoes, and biscuits with sausage gravy.  
         
    Because that's what super-ing looks like these days, for us, for Brad.  It's about building a home and a life for ourselves and for our kids that is rich in love, long on hope, covered in hard work, and immersed in learning to care as best we can for our corner of the world and the people in it.  That's worth shedding a tear over every now and then, I think.