“There’s always going to be someone better than you, kid.”
I can still hear my dad’s maddening words echoing in my head.
As an overly competitive 12-year-old, I couldn’t stand hearing this comment after another long race — and another loss. Didn’t my dad believe in me? I put 110% effort into my swimming, which he always said was all that mattered, but my best still wasn’t enough to win.
For the past year, I had doubled up on practices, swam laps on weekends and practiced flip turns until I felt sick. It was all to prepare for this one summer championship meet in August, and I would’ve given anything to finally win a race. But once again, it wasn’t my year. In my time swimming for this team, I had won the plastic trophies for “Coaches’ Award” or “Most Improved,” but I was a preteen, and I desperately wanted a gold medal. And yet, no matter how hard I worked, I couldn’t make it to the top of the podium.
So, in light of all my dreams, aspirations and inevitable shortcomings, were those seriously my dad’s words of encouragement? They didn’t go over so well. My initial reaction to his “pep talk” was pure outrage, stomping to the car in full dramatic fashion, not even bothering to put my Crocs on first.
***
Even at a young age, it was clear I wasn’t destined for the Olympics. I was a small kid — barely above the four-foot mark at the doctor’s office — and while I was “a good little swimmer,” as everyone told me, I wasn’t great. I could hold my own in the pool, but the competition was fierce and, to top it all off, my best friend was the star of the team. She was a natural in the water, and although I cheered for her after every race, it was hard always coming in second. Looking back, it was a bit too intense of an environment for a friendly summer league, so at the time, it definitely didn’t feel low stakes.
Swimming has been a part of my life since I was five years old. At first, it was mostly splashing around in the shallow end of the pool with my friends, doing handstand competitions and playing Marco Polo until the sunset and the lifeguards began closing umbrellas.
As time went on, I realized how much I truly loved it. It wasn’t all fun and games anymore. I wanted to be the best, so I set my mind on reaching the elusive podium at the championship meet at the end of each season. In our house, we called this meet “Champs.” I talked my parents’ ears off about heat sheets and best times on a daily basis. It was my favorite topic of conversation at the dinner table, in the car after practice, at bedtime — you name it. By July, everything in my world revolved around Champs.
There were five regular-season dual meets before then. Both my parents worked full-time in the summers, but that didn’t stop my dad from coming to every meet I had. He’d show up straight from the office, dressed in a full suit and tie to watch my races in the peak of summer heat. For three hours, he would switch off between taking calls in the shade of the snack bar and running to the end of my lane to cheer. All the other dads would walk in from their round of golf wearing polo shirts and flip-flops. I thought it was unfair that mine had to come straight from work, but my dad never complained, even when I got his suits all wet when I hugged him after a race.
***
The day of the championship meet, my dad caught up to me at the car, where I repeatedly yanked on the handle, waiting for him to unlock the doors. Despite my temper tantrum, my dad seemed amused as he watched me with a smile.
“Are you done?” he asked.
He started laughing at my ridiculous behavior and, frankly, it’s always been hard for me to stay mad at my dad, especially when he starts chuckling to himself. I knew I was overreacting, but I was frustrated. Reaching that podium had been a goal of mine for so long. All I wanted was to hear my name being announced as I bent down for the medal to be placed around my neck. I had worked so hard, and now that my goal was out of reach for another season, I didn’t know how to react other than climbing into the car and slamming my door shut.
My dad took his seat behind the wheel and turned toward me with a sigh. Fearing a reprimand for my bratty behavior, I busied myself by sliding my damp towel beneath my legs, which were already burning against the black leather interior. Once I stopped fidgeting, my dad held his hand out for my giant blue mirrored sunglasses, which I reluctantly handed over with a groan — forcing me to meet his eyes just before he started on a really, really long speech — a true pep talk this time. Today, I couldn’t tell you exactly what he said during those ten minutes in the stifling-hot Subaru, but the essence of it is what encouraged me to go back to practice the following Monday and keep on kicking.
Unfailingly my biggest cheerleader, my dad is an expert at lifting me up when I’m feeling down. I’ve heard the familiar words of his pep talks repeated many times since, but this day in the car was the first time I remember truly hearing them. Thankfully, his message hasn’t changed much over the years. While I can’t recall his exact words, it went something like this:
“There’s always going to be someone better than you, but that’s why you can’t focus on what everyone else is doing. You’ll drive yourself crazy thinking about how unfair it is that some people do better than those who work just as hard or even much harder. It’s not just about the end result. At the end of the day, all you can do is your best. Did you do your best out there today? Good, then that’s all you can ask for. As for me? I really could not be more proud of who you are, how hard you try and what you have accomplished.”
Dad, this is what went through my head when I finally stood on the top of the podium after 10 hard years of trying. This is what I thought about after I bombed my first SAT and after I received my rejection from my top choice for college. It’s what runs through my head when I walk out of an economics midterm feeling discouraged and when I worry about my career plans and future job. It’s what I heard in my head after I won the MVP trophy in the summer league and when I was elected captain of my high school swim team many years later. It’s what I think about when I’m frustrated or proud or feel like giving up.
***
The day I got accepted to the University of Michigan, all the hard work paid off. I remember this day vividly. You were exasperated with work and we were already late leaving for a road trip. But when I ran into the room with my news, you looked up from your computer, pushed away from the desk and wrapped me up in a hug. It felt just like finally winning a race.
Hours later, staring out the window of the passenger seat, I remembered my silly tantrum in the parking lot. I thought about that day of disappointment, the heat of the black pavement on my bare feet and your unwavering support.
Dad, I love you so much. I’ll always look up to you and I hope to have even half of your patience, compassion and selflessness someday. From you, I’ve learned so much about what it means to learn and to love.
The biggest lesson I’ve learned? It’s that, at the end of the day, there may always be someone out there who’s better than me, but I should never let that stop me from being, and becoming, my best self.
Happy Father’s Day, Dad! Thank you for always believing in me.
Love,
Your Sunshine
Statement Contributor Rory Paterniti can be reached at rorypat@umich.edu.
