Memoir: Perfect Peter, Prologue- Installment 3, Football Scholarship

That’s me, in red. Rutgers vs Penn State, October 7, 1989, Giants Stadium

One reason I’m sharing my memoir is because I have realized as a health coach, often, when we are struggling, like when trying to be healthier, our childhood may be holding us back. Until we address our past, our present and future may be affected.

Another reason is, when I shared it with friends, many said, “I feel the same. Can we talk?”

And maybe the most important reason; Right now, somewhere, an adult is harming a child. I pray it stops.

If what you read affects you, please reach out to me via email or phone, or leave a comment. My hope is to connect authentically with you, so we can support each other.

Caution, Dear Reader - Some of the content is graphic, and I have been told, disturbing at times. My goal is not to upset, but to share honestly. Only reflection and honesty have helped me glimpse what has eluded me for 50 years-happiness. Please read at your discretion. 

*Most names have been changed.

Note:

Sometimes, all a kid needs is one person to tell them they're good enough. If that person is a parent or caregiver, then their life will go in one direction. Otherwise, they can search for that praise for the rest of their lives. #memoirs #rutgersfootball #dysfunctionalfamilies #perfectionism #depression #happiness #mentalhealth #mindfulness #selfcare #wellness

Installment 3

When I share this writing with my therapist, he reminds me, “Peter, this is your story, not your fathers.” So I go back and add this important side of my life that I ignore so completely, after I tell Bella, she can’t believe it; “Dad, you played one year of high school football and got scholarships to Tennessee, Ohio State, and Syracuse! And you chose Rutgers?” 

It’s October 7, 1989. I’m 19. Rutgers is playing Penn State at Giants Stadium in New Jersey. Penn State is out for revenge because for the second time since the so-called Rutgers, Penn State football rivalry started in 1918, they lost to us last year. I’m standing on the 50 yard line in my uniform, black gloves on my hands, helmet on my head. I was redshirted as a freshman and earned a starting spot in my sophomore year, something the reporters say. “...doesn’t happen often at Rutgers.”  (article below) Across the line of scrimmage is Dave Szott; six feet, four inches, 290 pounds. We went to high school together but he graduated two years before me. He will go on to play 14 years in the NFL and become an All Pro Offensive Linemen. In less than two months, on December 2nd, 1989, I will take my helmet off in Dublin, Ireland, and never put it on again.

I remember feeling tormented that day in Ireland. We just lost to the University of Pittsburgh and we’re walking off the field. Before we make it to the locker room, we’re mobbed by Irish fans, mostly young pretty girls; blue eyes, red hair, ruddy skin, freckles. They’re enamored by Americans playing American football in their Landsdowne Road soccer stadium. They're swarming us, grabbing what they can; chinstraps, gloves, jerseys, begging us to sign our thigh pads for them. It’s unexpected, and thrilling. 

A couple hours later, I’m sitting in the Dublin Airport with my teammates; my roommate Kory to my right, Guinness in hand. Next to him, Chuck, an upperclassman who has taken us under his wing, and Elizabeth, a member of the Rutgers band who made the trip with us. There is a picture of us (below); she’s young, blond, beautiful. Me, I look tired. I weigh 275 pounds and feel sweaty, fat, and unattractive. I’m wearing one of those ugly 80’s patterned sweaters I thought looked cool at the time. I don’t know why, but Elizabeth seems to like me. What happens next changes my life forever. I stand, walk into the bathroom, look in the mirror, and hate the person I see; greasy hair, overweight, bloated face. depressed, angry, confused, unhappy, scared, alone. I can’t take it anymore. That’s when I decide to do the only thing that makes sense at the time; When we return to the United States, I will quit my scholarship. For a moment, I feel relieved.

Back in the Rutgers, Penn State game, even though we’re in New Jersey, the crowd is made up of mostly screaming Nittany Lion fans. In the stands, somewhere near the 50 yard line, watching with pride, is my best friend Jamie’s, father. He was my little league coach and surrogate father, (the one my father threatened to kill). After the game he’ll give me the program and ticket to keep as mementos. Jamie will tell me it was the highlight of his father’s life; having two kids he coached in little league, Dave Szott and me, play each other on TV in Giants Stadium. He surprises me when he adds, “You know, you’re the son my father wishes he had, instead of me. It’s ok, I don’t blame you.” I’m sad for Jamie, and shocked, because I’ve never felt like the son anyone’s wanted.

Back home in Clifton, New Jersey, my high school girlfriend Karen and her family are gathered around the TV watching the game on ABC, recording it for me on a VCR tape. Her sister will label it and hand it to me with pride. When I come over they’ll make me feel like a celebrity, asking, “How was it being on TV?” Uncomfortable with the attention, I say, “It was okay,” and turn away, ending the conversation. I will never watch the VCR tape, or show anyone, because I don’t have the nerve to see what it reveals. I thought the whole scholarship thing was someone’s mistake. 34 years later the VCR tape is still sitting in my “Rutgers stuff” box.

Back on the field there is an external battle going on, Rutgers vs Penn State, and an internal battle, Pete (what everyone called me then) vs someone I haven’t yet met. My friends and teammates think I’m the luckiest bastard in the world, living the dream of most starry eyed kids, to one day get a scholarship and play on TV in Giant’s Stadium. I don't feel that way. I have one goal; to survive the battle, and as quickly as possible return to my dorm and hide; much like I lived my childhood. After the game, Dave Szott walks up to me, smiles, shakes my hand, and says, “Good game. You did a good job out there.” I think he means it, but I don’t believe him. I think he’s being nice, like, what else can he say? In fact, I don’t understand why my coaches keep starting me and everyone keeps complimenting me. It’s nice to hear, but I’m uncomfortable with it. Later I’ll learn, I only needed one person’s compliments, but instead, he told me, “You’re not a good baseball player,” and “Football is a stupid sport,” and, “I’ll kill you if you play football again.” I’ll quit both.

After I walk away from my scholarship, I’ll never talk about it, like it never happened. I won’t talk to my roommates for 30 years; the guys I lived with, sweated with, and survived battles with. When we reconnect they’ll ask, “What the hell happened to you, Pete? You just disappeared.” That’s why Bella’s surprised when I tell her. I guess I couldn’t reconcile quitting with my perfect persona.

More to come…

Yes, that’s me 30 years ago. The one on the right with the cool (ugly) sweater