Why We Do This

I recently had the opportunity to visit a longtime friend I hadn't seen in a while. He's been caught off guard by cancer, that dreaded disease that can sneak up on you, put you in an uncomfortable defensive position where you're fighting for your life.

As a successful former rugby coach, he knows how to play defense and offense, how to set up your opponent to take advantage of his weakness, or create a weakness that you can exploit. He's always been a thinking man.

This goes far beyond sports. He's a guy who knew from an early age what he wanted to be in life. He had a vision and he stuck with it. That's the way he is. Set a goal. Learn everything you can about achieving your goal and go about doing it.

I call that striving for something. The Oxford language dictionary defines the verb strive as "make great efforts to achieve or obtain something." That's what he's always done.

Our sophomore year in high school we were asked by our biology teacher, also our football coach, to complete a life-science project. My friend and I decided to join forces and dissect a frog.  Coach Pete Lopez's biology project was legend at our all-boys high school and led to many dissections of various life forms.

Due to our prodigious athletic and civic obligations -- we both played sports, were president and vice president of our class, he being president -- we didn't have time to go hunting for a live frog. We purchased our specimen which came lifeless in a clear plastic bag of formaldehyde.

Being slightly squeamish, we enlisted an assistant, his older sister, to initiate the dissection. She performed a masterful job and we learned a great deal by careful observation. 

My friend had a wood worker connection who crafted a beautiful wood-grained and framed board on which we mounted a display of frog organs and appendages in clear glass tubes. We got an A.

Looking back, I realize that over the years I should have remained in better contact with my friend. Not only was he clear-sighted about his life's vocation, dentist and coach, he understood how to achieve his goals. I, conversely, floundered and fluttered believing that somehow when the spirit moved me would write the great American novel. I never ran for class office again. He was elected Student Body President for our senior year, a harbinger of future success.

A few days ago, with the temperature reaching 90-degrees in his home town of Claremont, we sat in the shade of his wonderful L-shaped front porch and talked about the past, present and future. An original 1920s craftsman-built house with local stone facia and supporting columns, his house is located on a leafy corner across the street from the village park. His dental practice is only a few blocks away.

One of his three lovely daughters joined us for lunch. I can imagine how proud he felt and rightly so. Coincidentally, I also have three lovely daughters, whom I consider my greatest achievement. If our daughters are representative of the future, we have nothing to worry about.

"We have to learn how to lose," said Hannah, my friend's daughter, joining our conversation about life, politics and sports. She referred to a recent Olympic controversy involving Russian athletes.

"As a coach," I asked my friend, "what was your philosophy or secret to success?"

"I told my teams to remember why we do this."

"Why do we?" I asked.

"For fun, exercise, to compete, to give it our best.” He didn’t mention the late, legendary football coach Vince Lombardi’s maxim that “winning is everything.” No, his philosophy was more along the lines of Pete Lopez’s, whom we both agreed was our most inspiring coach. He emphasized character.

My friend has been receiving chemo therapy and anxiously awaiting weekly results. Most recently he was given a blood transfusion. He remains upbeat. He continues to read, talk by phone with his many friends, follow the news, sports and politics, eager for information and understanding, while guiding his daughters with sound fatherly advice. 

“I have more time to think,” he said.

In one corner of the porch, lay a collection of framed, stained glass pieces, the artful work of the steady hands of a skilled dentist. The colorful imagery celebrates the local landscape of mountains and the once plentiful orange groves of the region. I could smell the blossoms from memory.

A blue and gold Cal cap covered the top of his head. One daughter attends UC Berkeley. He gets around with the aid of a cane. When we gave each other a bro hug before I left, I was consoled by the firmness in his shoulder muscles, the strength in his hand and the affection in his smile.

That’s why we do this.