All posts by D.A. Adams

D.A. Adams is the author of the Brotherhood of Dwarves series and the Sam Skeen saga. He received a Master of Arts in Writing from the University of Memphis in 1999 and taught college English for 16 years. He is the father to two amazing sons and resides in East Tennessee.

General Posts

Wednesday Morning Ramblings

January 26, 2011 D.A. Adams 1 Comment

My oldest doesn’t call me daddy very often anymore. Since he’s now a big boy, it’s usually just dad. Last night, however, I got a surprise daddy while we were saying good night. For his entire life, I’ve sung songs to him at bedtime. Obviously for the last three years, it’s mostly been over the phone, but it has remained our tradition as often as we get to talk, usually three to four nights a week. Over the last couple of years, he has been singing songs back to me, sometimes accompanying me, sometimes by himself. Recently, he has begun making up his own songs, usually about his favorite video game or a new episode of Spongebob that he’s seen, and there simply aren’t words for how much I enjoy listening to him. My only complaint is that I don’t get to share this with my youngest as well, but at four, he’s going through a phase of not wanting to talk on the phone.

At first last night, Collin said he didn’t want to sing himself because he was tired and wanted to finish watching House of Inubis, but when I started to say good night, he acted disappointed that we were hanging up, so I asked him again. Once more, he said no at first but then said, “Okay, I’ll sing three songs.” Whenever he finishes one of his original compositions, he always asks what I thought of it, and I always offer him praise. While his voice isn’t yet melodic, he has innate musical talent, and I very much want to encourage and nurture that. He’s also a very sensitive child who needs positive reinforcement much more than criticism, so whenever possible, I tell him good things about himself.

When he finished his second song, he asked, “Did you like that song, Daddy?” There was something in the tone of how he asked the question that overcame me. In his little six year old voice, I heard how vulnerable and sensitive he really is. I also heard just how much my opinion means to him. Every instinct and every cell of my being wanted to hug him and reassure him that he is a good kid who is smart and talented and special. I wanted him to see the love in my eyes and feel the security of my embrace the same as I felt when my father comforted me. The only thing I had to offer was my voice, so I said, “I loved it, son. You’re awesome.”

I’m not certain that he felt all that I wanted him to feel, but I did my best. He’s such an amazing guy with so much possibility, but I see his self-doubts and uncertainties, and I know those feelings all too well. I would give anything and everything to take those feelings from him and replace them with strength and self-confidence. The man he can be has more potential than I ever had. He has so much charisma and magnetism, so much creativity and imagination, so much physical and inner beauty. His possibilities are boundless. My hope is that I can help to instill in him the self-esteem and confidence to see those possibilities. My hope is that he can have what I never did–a positive sense of self-worth that allows him to face the world with courage and determination.

General Posts

Tuesday Afternoon Ramblings

January 25, 2011 D.A. Adams Leave a comment

Over the next two weeks, if you watch ESPN or the NFL Network, you’ll see and hear a lot about NFL history and the Super Bowl. Every year, it seems, there is a tribute to Vince Lombardi, the man for whom the Super Bowl trophy is named. Images of Bill Walsh flood the screen, especially that iconic image of him crying after his third Super Bowl victory because he knew it was his last game as a head coach. Bill Parcells and his 600 lb. ego will take up at least an hour of coverage. At some point, Don Shula will be brought up as the coach with most all-time victories and the sole undefeated season in NFL history. Much will be made of the Johnny-Come Latelys, both deserved and undeserved, as well. I’m not disputing the impact these men had on pro football, and I’m not disparaging the quality of their coaching, but the best of them will mostly be ignored.

Chuck Noll is the only head coach with four Super Bowl victories, and he earned those wins in a time when teams had to be built via the draft or with players no one else wanted. In the 1979 season, Noll set a record that most likely will never be duplicated: he won the Super Bowl with a team comprised of players who were all drafted by and played solely for the Steelers. If that’s not impressive, I don’t know what is. The man had an eye for talent and an attention to detail that was second to none. Most of the talent he found came from small schools with little fanfare, yet many of those players, including Joe Greene, John Stallworth, Jack Lambert, and Terry Bradshaw, became Hall of Fame players.

Noll rarely gets the credit he deserves because he has always been a private person. Once his coaching career ended, he disappeared from the public eye, rarely making appearances at Steelers games and, as far as I know, never doing television interviews. Unlike people such as Jimmie Johnson or Bill Parcells, he didn’t need to have his ego fluffed on a regular basis. He had other interests to pursue, such as collecting fine wine and learning to sail. He also didn’t leave behind a collection of snappy sound bytes that ESPN can replay year after year. Instead, he spoke simply and often with wisdom, and those two things don’t play well in glitz and glitter.

I’ve often said that if Chuck Noll came along in today’s NFL, he wouldn’t have lasted long enough to build his dynasty. His first year, the team went 1-13, then 5-9, then 6-8. Today, more than likely, he would’ve been fired after the second season and most definitely after the third. There simply isn’t enough patience anymore to allow a coach to build and develop the way Coach Noll built and developed his team. By his fourth season, the foundation he had constructed finally began to take shape, and the team went 11-3, beating the Raiders in the playoffs before losing to the Dolphins in the AFC Championship game. That game against the Raiders, for those who don’t know, ended on the Immaculate Reception by Franco Harris. That play, while shrugged off as little more than luck by Raiders fans and other brainless humanoids, was the culmination of Noll’s dedication to details. The entire reason why Harris was hustling down the field after the pass had been thrown was because Noll had taught that in practice. Harris was in position to make the catch because he was looking for someone to block down field after he had completed his primary duty of picking up the pass rush and his secondary duty of flowing out to the flat as a check down receiver.

Coach Noll’s legacy is remembered by his players and fans. We remember the teams he assembled, and even in the lean years, when the talent had waned and the game was beginning was pass him by, he was a great coach. He will probably never have a trophy named in his honor, and he will probably never receive his due as a member of the top echelon of coaches along with Lombardi, Halas, Brown, and Shula, but no one else won more Super Bowls, and ten of the players he drafted ended up in the Hall of Fame. Some of us feel as if there are at least three or four who deserve to be there who aren’t. He also was one of the biggest advocates for Tony Dungy to become a head coach, and the Tampa Two defense for which Dungy is most famous came out of the Steelers defense of 70’s, which had Noll’s fingerprints all over it.

All I can say as the Steelers prepare for their 8th Super Bowl appearance is thank you, Chuck Noll. You were the architect, the visionary, and the teacher who built this franchise into a winner.

General Posts

Monday Afternoon Ramblings

January 24, 2011 D.A. Adams 2 Comments

As I wrote the other day, I still feel young at heart, so please don’t read this as some mid-life freak out about realizing my own mortality. I’ve known my mortality quite well since I was 16, and the acceptance of death and dying has long been settled in my heart. However, I’ve come to realize recently that my body is weakening and will never again return to its former strength. Until just a couple of years ago, I felt as if physically I could still do most of the things I had been able to do as a young man. Now, I can tell that the strength I once had will never return.

I’m still fairly strong and still have a decent level of endurance, but I’ve come to accept that the muscle in my lower back that I first hurt lifting weights at 15 and then re-injured playing golf at 29 will never fully heal. My legs will always have this dull ache; my grip, once ferociously solid like an iron rod, is now more like an aluminum bar. For most of my life I felt as if I could move any physical object put before me. Now, I feel my limitations. Coming to terms with my waning strength is not easy because I’ve always defined myself in part as a very strong man, and I’ve rarely felt threatened because of that power in my legs and core. Now, I’m not so certain I could defend myself against a young buck, and that’s a hard thing to face.

On the other hand, I feel healthier than I can ever remember. I’m eating better and taking better care of myself than at any time in my life, so even though my strength is diminishing, my physical self feels good. It’s an odd combination to feel myself losing strength on one side but also to feel my health improving on the other. Obviously, overall health is more important than physical strength, but I would be lying if I said that I didn’t miss how strong I used to be. It’s not easy to let go of visions of myself as I was in my youth, but I’m learning how, and the amazing part is that the more I let go of those old visions, the more I like the man I am today.