For those who don’t know, my dad (Flynny) used to be the Program Director for the Boys and Girls Club of Stoneham. For over 30 years he worked with kids every day, and I am lucky to say that I was one of them. Although I didn’t get any special treatment from him while I was at the Boys Club, he always made me feel special. My dad was the guy that every other kid wanted their dad to be. He played games, told funny stories, and listened to everyone’s problems. He walked a fine line of the many different roles that were required of him. He was a counselor, a disciplinarian, a mediator, and a friend, all at the same time. Although he no longer works there, there’s no doubt in my mind that he embodied everything that the Boys Club stands for to this day. He was that positive man in the “Positive Place for Kids.”
Unfortunately, I feel like I never took full advantage of that growing up. I spent so much time when I was younger trying to learn how to do things he could do, that I never stopped to ask him how to do them. My dad played tennis, so, in my head, I had to be good at tennis. My dad won a gold medal at the Bay State Games in Ping-Pong, so I had to do it too. I had this wonderful mentor right next to me, and I treated him like my competition. I always felt like I had to be better for him, because he was so good for me.
I think I was 9 years old when I watched him win the gold medal in the men’s novice division at the Bay State Games. I used to look at that medal every chance I could, and I would wear the hideously bright red windbreaker he got for winning too. From then on, every Friday night, after the building closed, my dad would wheel a Ping-Pong table into the big room at the Boys Club, and we would play for hours. We worked on serves and spins, forehands and backhands, and other mechanics that make Ping-Pong more than just a friendly, pat-a-cake game. My dad had been playing Ping-Pong for longer than I had been alive, and he was amazing. In my mind, he could beat anyone, and that meant that I had to beat him.
I tried my hardest, during these Ping-Pong sessions, and my dad never conceded to me once. He held his own week after week as I grew better and faster. I learned new serves and grew confident with my backhand, and we would always finish each Friday night with a grueling match where he came out on top.
Eventually I got to a point where I could beat everyone at the Boys Club except for him. Even former club members would come back to the club boasting that they had been playing in college, or in a table tennis league, and they would challenge my dad to matches. He would tell them “you can play me if you beat Justin,” and I would rise to that challenge. I couldn’t lose to them, and I knew I couldn’t lose because my dad believed in me. His confidence became instilled in me, and it was all in my head, I had had the skill for so long, but not the mental toughness.
So I kept at it, confident that it would happen someday, and when I was fifteen I went to the Bay State games to test my skills. I played in the junior novice division, coming in second place and winning the silver medal while my dad was there to watch. I had overcome another obstacle. I had won my own medal and my own jacket, but it still wasn’t enough. I was frustrated, because I still thought to myself "If I could just beat him..." He was the last hurdle, and I still needed to beat him to be his equal, and thats what it would take to make him proud of me.
Well, time went on, and I started to have new interests, and I had many new firsts in my life. I got my first job, I had my first kiss, and I passed my driving exam. I went to the Boys Club less and less, and hung out with girls and my friends more. I lost that sense of competition with him. I was doing my own thing, and was happy with that. It wasn’t that I stopped wanting to play him, but I had become too busy with my own life to set aside time to be in his.
Then, one Friday night, after graduating high school, after a brief attempt at college, after I was no longer a member at the Boys Club, it happened. I went to see him at the club with a couple of my friends from college, and we played a very close match where I came out on top. I can’t tell you the score, but I can tell you this; It did not live up to the hype. It was a sloppy game. We were both rusty, and not nearly as good as we used to be. I had been building up to this moment for so long and then, poof, it was over. I didn’t feel better about myself for beating my dad, and looking back on it now, it should have been obvious why.
You see, my dad was only as good as I made him out to be in my head. In all my years of playing him, I failed to see that I made him better too. We were feeding off each other. He was always going to be better than me, because I was improving his game too. I’m sure at the beginning the benefit wasn’t mutual, but at some point I became good enough that I elevated his level of play too. He had to try to beat me, and the older I got, the harder he had to try. But once we stopped playing consistently, we both regressed somewhat. The match was nothing compared to the actual journey, and the hug after the game meant far more than the win itself.
I know now that I didn’t need to beat my dad for him to be proud of me, no father does. When I watch my little girls and their small daily triumphs, I think to myself how proud I am to be their dad. I feel blessed to have them in my life, and I look forward to everyday I get to spend with them. I want them to know how much I love them, and how much they mean to me. I want them to always feel special, like my dad makes me feel. I love you dad, Happy Father's Day!
J
