What Would You Say if Tim Tebow Knocked on Your Door?
Really. If Tim Tebow knocked on your door right now, what would you say?
Even though Denver is my town, TT just pulled off the biggest win of his Broncos career, and I’m a fan (I’ll admit it: I’m not a diehard, but I’m not clutching the back of the bandwagon with my last shellacked nail either), I wouldn’t work the football angle. Better minds than mine will debate his passing ability, throwing motion, and unconventional style long after the playoffs are done, and Super Bowl Sunday commercial links fade from your Twitter feed.
Yes, I know a little bit about football. It’s a core class…mandatory…an absolute requirement in our house, because my husband, Scot, is the real deal when it comes to America’s favorite sport. He loves football so much that he has a Colorado Buffalo tattooed on his right calf. It’s full color, life-like, not small, and perfectly centered above his sock line. So that it’s always visible. Like, 24/7. Which is awesome.
Scot decided it would be a great idea to ink himself when he was thirty, sober, and I was out of town for work. Not when he was in college, coming off an all-night bender at the Fiji house in Boulder, and I was nowhere close to being in the picture.
When he finally produced the receipt from the tattoo parlor to convince me that it was real, I cried. But my need to wear an “A” for alpha and the control issues that may or may not present themselves from time to time in our marriage is the subject of a different post.
Anyway, I wouldn’t bring up religion either.
Whether it’s a church, a casino, or a bottle of Jack, we all have our personal Gods and Demons to deal with. Because we’re human, we sometimes blur the line between the two (more often, I think, than we’d like to admit). What serves as any individual’s inspiration, however, is irrelevant. It’s what we do with that inspiration that counts.
In all honesty, if Tim Tebow were to knock on my door right now, I probably wouldn’t answer it. It’s late, I’m propped up on my favorite softie pillow with zit cream on my face, and I’m tired.
But just for arguments sake, let’s say it’s early, I’m in full Kardashian make-up mode, and I just shotgunned a triple espresso latte from Starbuck’s. There is no doubt in my mind that I’d open the door.
So after I invite him in, but before I actually let him walk across the threshold, I would ask one question. One very important, but simple question.
I would ask that he please take off his shoes. I’m a little OCD when it comes to tracking snow all over my house, and I’m positive he has ginormous feet (he has to wear size, like, 48XXXL).
And after I got that Very Important Question out of the way, let him sit in my favorite leather chair, got him a glass of water, peeled Scot off the ceiling, and told the kids to “please stop staring because it’s rude,” I would just say “thank you.”
Thank you for reinforcing that there are truly good people in the world. Not good quarterbacks, messengers, agendas, or brands. Just good people who are kind, simply because that’s what feels right.
Thank you for giving my son a role model to embrace. Someone to look up to in areas that transcend the shelf life of a pro career, and include powerful words like humility, transparency, confidence, and grace.
Thank you for not being perfect on the field, and for not being so imperfect off the field that it’s painful to watch.
Thank you for helping me trust that there are guys out there who are worthy of my girls. Not you, specifically, because they’re seven and nine years old, and that thought is super creepy. But boys, and someday men like you, who will hold their hands (but not too tightly), get them home safely each night, and listen, really listen, when they speak.
Thank you for knowing who you are, and believing in yourself unconditionally in the face of criticism, ridicule, envy, and poor taste.
And finally, thank you for making me smile over and over, and countless times throughout this season…one that has been more fun to watch than anything I’ve seen in a long time. With every win, you look like a twelve-year old coming off the field after a huge Pop Warner game. With every loss, you wear your heart inside-out on your sleeve, and a thousand emotions alongside.
It’s been my pleasure to meet you. Really. I’m a dreamer by nature, and now? I’m a believer too.
You can find more posts by Stacie Chadwick at www.staciechadwick.me