Still King of All the Wild Things

I didn’t want it to end.  Last game of his school career.  Last game that we get to spend together.  Last game of the best years of my life.  Tears welled up in my eyes.

My mom watched him while I was at work.  Asia was already in school at that point so it was just Grandma Ok Hui and the monster.  I knew he was going to be fast when he started crawling. The boy could scoot.  I would turn my head and he was out.  All you could see was a whirlwind of his diaper covered butt, tiny knees and feet, and a bottle full of milk hanging from his mouth.  I’d chase him and then you’d hear giggles and panting.  The giggles were his.  The panting was mine.

As he got older, we had a routine everyday.  He would wait for me to get home.  He could hear my car pulling up in my mom’s driveway.  I could see him peeking but I never let him know.  I would walk into the house and yell out to my mom.  “Hey Ma, where’s Miles?”  My mom had these sheer curtains that covered the long vertical windows that hugged the front door.  Behind those sheer curtains was Miles attempting to hide.  Ignore the fact that the curtains were translucent,  tiny bare feet could be seen like Scooby and Shaggy’s.  I’d get closer still calling out for Miles.  “He must have run away.  I better go.”  More giggles.  One more step.  I’d rush him, throw him up in the air, hug and kiss him.  From picking him up because he wanted to go “upee”, laughing at fake farts, motorboating his stomach because it was “tummy time”, making him watch old favorites like Godzilla or The Last Dragon, telling him about the glory of back in the day, or talking trash on the sticks playing Mortal Kombat…We’re as close as close can be.  

Fast forward…To this day, people in general, but more specifically my students are afraid of me.  My classroom stays quiet.  I don’t know where it falls as far as decibel levels but it’s in the vicinity of a church, a library, or maybe a morgue.  Everyday at 11:45, that silence was broken by little feet turning over followed by giggles and panting.  The door opens.  My desk is in the back corner of the room.  Miles runs in to give me a hug with art projects in his hand and a sly smile on his face.  He was enrolled in the CDL program here at Franklin High School at the time.  It’s a preschool environment where the high school students work with kids ages 4-5 under the supervision of a teacher who directed the curriculum.  It ran from 8:15-11:30 and the kids were to be picked up by 11:40.  I made an arrangement with Mrs. Pedraza and Ms. Yost, the CDL teachers, to have one of their students walk Miles to my portable because my English class didn’t end until noon.  Walk Miles never happened.  He would haul ass from CDL to the ramp of my portable leaving the student teacher scrambling and frazzled trying to keep up.  The giggles were his.  The panting was theirs.

They stood no chance of catching him.  He had years of honing his elusiveness running away from me at home.  Grabbing a hold of Miles is like trying to catch a fish with bare hands while running on ice.  You better bring a gang and check your ego at the door...he always makes the first person miss and he always lets you know about it.

The student teachers would come in and apologize.  I assured them that there was no need to.  My students couldn’t wait for him to come in.  As afraid as they were of me, Miles was quite the opposite.  Once he came in, he would immediately dig in my desk drawer for the snack that I would bring for him.  He would then go to the front of my class, snack in hand, to the chalkboard and proceed to draw a picture of himself being some radiating giant, buff, Goku-like figure and me as some tiny, little man.  (That continues by the way.)  His back was always to me in order to cover up my view.  Then the dramatic reveal.  The students in class would snicker and look back to see my reaction.  He was in stitches the whole time and fed off their energy.  They loved him and were absolutely smitten being able to see that side of me.

My conference period was right after lunch so it worked out well.  Other than that block of time in the morning, he was with me the rest of the day.  My conference led to our major sports period for football.  Never bored and always glued to whatever we were working on, Miles was right there with me.  He would ask me a thousand questions...the what, but more importantly the how and the why of everything.  During water breaks, he’d snatch a ball from the quarterbacks and we played catch.  His face when I made errant throws was meme worthy.  The players engaged and connected with him as often as they could.  He was one of them in his eyes.  They didn’t know it but those daily interactions were priceless.  They helped instill a confidence that shaped who he was becoming.

Confidence he had.  Miles was infatuated with superheroes.  As soon as we came home after work and practice, he would immediately run into his room to change clothes.  A few minutes would pass and his bedroom door would fly open.  Smoke rose and Miles came out as Spiderman, Wolverine, The Hulk, Batman, or a combination of them all.  Okay, there was no smoke but that’s how I see it in my head.   He had the costumes from Halloweens past, but to him, they weren’t costumes.  They were uniforms.  He ran down the hallway like he was called into battle, jumped from the sofa, he punched and kicked me as I walked by.  He also lied on his stomach to color, snacked at his little table in front of the television, and napped in that day’s costume.  Absolute bad ass.

When he turned 5, Miles bugged me everyday to put him in little league football.  I didn’t.  I wasn’t worried about him getting hurt.  It was all about why he wanted to play.   It couldn’t be because I was a football coach or because I played or some other association of thinking that was a way to earn my appreciation.  I loved him from the moment he was conceived and football had nothing to do with it.  He played flag football that year.  He had fun, but he wanted the real thing.  Fully padded and full contact.  He was relentless.  I kept him waiting just to be sure...until he was 6.

Miles loved the game.  He loved the details and he loved the work.  While most of our high school players began their summer workouts in the summer before their freshman year, he started in kindergarten.  He got up with me everyday and went through all the drills with our players.  I spent Saturday evenings back then flipping between game tape of our next opponent and watching college football.  He would hop on the couch and watch right along with me.  Plenty of snacks on hand of course.  His attention gravitated on players who were small and quick like he was.  Reggie Bush, Tavon Austin, but his favorite player was LaMichael James and the Oregon Ducks his favorite team.  “Did you see that?!”  “Dad.  Dad.  Dad.  Did you see that?”  He would then pop up off the couch and mimic moves that he had just seen.

It wasn’t easy in the beginning.  He went through some growing pains his first few years in little league.  He played for the famed Northeast Raiders.  Most of the kids, hell all of the kids, were bigger than he was.  Size always catches the eye of many coaches.  He was initially overlooked.  His days consisted of going to his elementary school, walking to the high school, and staying with me until my practice was over.  I’d rush him over to his practice at the park, drive back to the high school to tie up any loose ends, and then head back to the park where he was.  A lot of the parents had folding chairs and pulled up next to the area where the kids were.  I’d stay in my car, listening to music, while watching from a distance.  It wasn’t that I was disinterested.  I loved watching him.  I was annoyed.  I happen to be in a profession, teaching and coaching, where everyone believes that they have a valid opinion that surpasses your expertise.  Watching Law and Order doesn’t make you a master in court proceedings.  It’s okay to just shut the fuck up.  The answer to many of the world’s problems is people just shutting the fuck up.  Rant over...Miles was frustrated.  He was starting at corner and backing up at running back.  “Dad, I’m better than those other guys.”  He was right.  He was better.  “I’m not going to talk to your coach.  If you think you’re better, you have to keep working hard.  Make the coach an idiot for not starting you.  They’re always going to discount you.  Now what are you going to do about it?”  I passed down some advice a wise old Korean woman once told me…”Work your ass off and never take shit from anyone.”

Miles did something about it.  He was a lockdown corner and he took a lot of pride in it.  He called himself the “clamp god.”  And when he got his time at running back, he shined.  He could catch and block better than anyone they tried to put in front of him.  But when the ball was in his hands, that's where he shined.  And as time passed, he put everyone on notice.  He used those initial experiences of being overlooked to create a soulfire of grit and resolve.  It was undeniable.

Years passed and we made a couple of moves.  With every move, Miles was right there with me.  From El Paso to San Antonio to South Texas...not easy for anyone, let alone an 11 year old, to have to choose between what is comfortable for the unknown.  There were definitely some hard days.  Especially in San Antonio.  He attended a very affluent, all white school and I was unhappy with where I was working.  (Mr. White, the principal of Sam Houston High School in SAISD at the time, if you’re reading this...Fuck you.  You’re the worst human being I’ve ever known.)  Completely away from anything familiar, we leaned on each other.

We had each other and we had football.  One of the parents of the players I was coaching there asked if Miles was interested in playing on his little league team.  He was.  He immediately made an impact.  He started at running back in the Typha youth division in San Antonio.  The same division from the show Friday Night Tykes.  Teams were loaded with the likes of Jamaal Charles’ son.  (Yes, that Jammal Charles.)  Miles’ team was terrible and got busted every week, but he did thing.  He played his butt off and earned the respect of every player on the field.

The time that we spent in San Antonio was short lived.  Thanks to the above mentioned Mr. White.  With plans to move back to El Paso, a man with whom I spent my whole career,  asked me to give it one more go.  This time in South Texas, Los Fresnos to be exact.  I was hesitant.  I needed to mull it over and I needed to visit the school.  Sight unseen would never happen again.  Irresponsible is an understatement.  I did what I always did when I was going to make a big decision.  I asked Miles for his thoughts.  He was not excited.

To be honest, I wasn’t excited either.  Miles and I made the drive to Los Fresnos to hopefully make the best decision possible together.  The trip was eye opening.  It wasn’t like any place we had ever been.  Really small town atmosphere.  During that visit, Miles interacted with some of the coaches and the players.  I had two interviews for head coaching positions back in El Paso.  I had a decision to make…Head back home or make one more run with friends?  I’ve never been one to solely pursue a title just for the sake of it.  I know what I bring to the table, and as long as my work is appreciated and recognized, I’m good.  The players and the coaches with whom I’ve worked have always known what’s what.  Miles gave the go ahead and we decided to try out South Texas.

If the school where I worked in SA was Eastside High from Lean on Me, Los Fresnos was like Rydell High from Grease.  Miles was one of the only Black kids, and he was one of the only Asian kids, which made him the only Black and Asian kid.  But that’s one of the beautiful things about sports, specifically football.  If you can ball, making new friends is easy.  Miles could ball.  He became friends with a group comprised of the best athletes in his class.  It was easy living.  It should have been anyway.  I realized that I was a little out of place there.  More open minded and more experienced than what was the norm.  The pace got to me.  A little slow for my taste, but Miles was happy and it provided some stability to what the last few years had been.  For him, I could deal with it.  At least, I could stomach everything until he graduated.

He was a middle schooler when we arrived.  Everyone immediately knew who we were.  We would go to Walmart and hear, “Hey Coach!” I’d politely acknowledge the person with a half smile and a wave.  I’d take a few steps and ask Miles, “Do you know them?’  He would look at me and respond, “No.  Do you?”  Just part of the adjustment of living in a small town.

He was really starting to blossom during those years.  His teachers and coaches paid him the highest of compliments.  I’ve never been good at taking them so there would be an awkward exchange.  “My boy’s wicked smaht,” as Casey Affleck once said.  His teachers were blown away, almost intimidated.  His coaches would tell me how he was different…how hard he worked and how intensely he competed.    They never saw him throw a fit when he was still a preschooler and lost a drill to one of our varsity kids.  “Let’s go again!”  One day, his coach told me something that happened that day.  The team had to cut practice short because so many kids were failing.  A study hall session to throw out some life rafts to those drowning.  “Hey Miles, you have good grades.  Why don’t help these guys out?”  the coach asked him.  His answer?  Miles replied, “I’ll help anyone and everyone, but I don’t do lazy.”

Miles went from football to basketball to track to summer workouts with no break.  And during his free time, he asked me to take him to the gym or he was playing with his friends.  He competed harder than anyone around.  Unfortunately, there was a cost.  He suffered a stress fracture in his foot his freshman year.  He missed half the season and was miserable the whole duration of the rehab.  What was the rehab?  Rest.  It was the only time in his life he ever had to sit still.

His sophomore year, he suffered another setback.  His back had bothered him from time to time all the way back to eighth grade.  I never let him milk his discomfort when he was little, so he learned how to just tough through everything.  As the season was going to begin, the discomfort turned to pain.  I took him to a doctor, then another, then another.  They couldn’t pinpoint the exact problem.  I finally took him to a specialist and got an answer.  He stared at the CT scan with a confused look on his face and rotated the image several times.  “Your son is missing a vertebra.  The L5 to be exact.  The added pressure caused a stress fracture to the L4.”  Great job, Dad.

He took it easy for the next few weeks but there was no way that he was going to sit out.  Built different.  It’s become a catch phrase but no one lives it like Miles does.  One day, one of our so-called superstar seniors who skipped out on most of the summer workouts wanted to be the hype man during our sprints at the end of practice.  Miles was gassed and wasn’t going for it.  “Shut the fuck up, you poser.”  Everyone stopped.  The two got into a shouting match.  “You shut the fuck up.”  “We worked all summer and now you want to be a cheerleader?!  Shut the fuck up, poser!”  None of the other players said anything.  All of them commended Miles for what he had done when practice was over, but none of them had the guts to say anything at the time.  Mind you Miles was just a sophomore.  He was hurting all season but didn’t miss a game.  Anytime we needed a big play, he made it.  It was clear Miles was the leader of the team that year. He finished as runner up for district newcomer of the year.  Built different.

His junior year was a mess.  Covid shortened the season and we had players opt out.  The team looked promising in the spring but losing 8 starters decimated the hope of building on the momentum of last fall.  We only played 6 games and went 2-4.  Miles was a unanimous 1st team all-district player but the taste we had as the last game played out was like the sixth chew of a stick of Fruit Stripe gum.

My longtime friend and career colleague, Coach Brown, came in after the disappointing season and asked to speak to me and Coach Horner, another career colleague and close friend.  What came next was unexpected.  Brown had met with the superintendent and he was told that he was being reassigned as our head coach and athletic director.  The world of coaching is one that is misunderstood.  Coaches are judged on their wins and losses rather than maximizing the potential of a group in a given year.  This is high school, and because we can’t recruit, we have no control of the talent or ability of the players with whom we work.  Parents are selfish and have no perspective on what it is that we do.  And loud parents pressure school officials to make decisions based on little to no merit.

Coach Brown held a virtual team meeting and told our players what happened.  I preferred going to work even though it was all virtual at the time.  I taught my classes and made my way home.  As I opened the door, Miles came out of his room.  He didn’t say anything but the look on his face communicated plenty.  “I have no problem just teaching until you graduate.  What do you want to do?”

“I’m not going to play for some scrub coach my senior year.  I’m playing for you.  If we have to move, then we have to move.”

Miles had already begun playing basketball as the school was going through the process of hiring the new guy.  One of the coaches on our staff wanted the job so we all pushed him forward as Coach Brown transitioned out.  The finalists were announced and he didn’t even get an interview.  Small town politics at work.  Fishy stuff.

The first day the new guy came in was my last day coaching the kids.  He made some ignorant comments about us during his first speech to the team.  As he spoke, I got up and left.  I walked straight over to the principal and told him that I wouldn’t be going to the athletic period any longer.  I do G shit from time to time.  

The new guy made his rounds introducing himself to the kids.  The kids who he thought looked the part anyway.  He walked past Miles.  Again, Miles was playing basketball at the time so the new guy didn’t get a chance to actually see him work.  It didn’t take long.  When Miles went back to football full-time after basketball season was over, he let the new guy know and reminded everyone else that they were the citizens of Albuquerque and Miles…well he is the one who knocks.  Soon thereafter, the new guy went after Miles like a contestant on The Bachelor.  Everyday it was, “Great job Miles!   You’re going to be perfect for this position.  I have big plans for you.”

Then, he went after me.  “Hey Coach, I’ve asked around, and everyone keeps telling me what a stand up guy you are.  I spoke to the Sup, and he is going to allow me to make a new coaching position just for you.  I think you can really help me out on the offense with your experience.”  Word?  It took you 3 months to ask about me?  This new position doesn’t happen to coincide with you finally realizing what kind of player Miles is, does it?  Douche. 

There were a couple of job opportunities lined up in El Paso for me, but I was going to follow Miles’ lead.  He had long earned it.  We had pretty much made the decision to leave South Texas so it was just a matter of when.  One morning on a regular school day, Miles called me at 9:30.  He told me that it was going to be his last day.  He asked if it was okay.  I told him that I trusted him and that we would talk about it when he got home.

He got home.  He then went on to tell me how the new guy cut all of his reps during the workout that day.  It was the morning after I told him that I was passing on the offer to join his staff.  Miles then told the new guy that he needed to talk to the team at the end of the period.  The new guy asked Miles if he could wait until the next day.  “No, I can’t.  This is my last day.”  

The new guy was caught off guard.  “Umm, okay.”  Miles waited for the coach to finish speaking and stepped up…”All of the coaches and players who have been around have seen me over the years and you know what I’m about.  To come in today and get no reps?  I’ve worked too hard to get treated like this.  Today is my last day.  I’m out.”  The coaches and players went to show him love and wish him well.  It wasn’t the time.  He was pissed.   That was a Monday.  I made some calls, we packed and cleaned up, and we hit the road that Friday.

Miles had already made his choice on the school that he rather go which meant I made a decision on where I was going to be working.  The pride of the westside…Franklin High School.  We set ourselves up in an apartment, I started working, and he began working out with the team.  Quiet, confident, talented, with a work ethic that’s second to none…Miles was welcomed immediately.

The summer flew by and his senior year was upon us.  A new team with a new staff while also being my first go at being the head coach.  (Long story short…I was named interim head coach a few days before the season began.) I had a quick adjustment to make.  I spent my whole career calling games from the press box.  The angles allow for a clear line of sight and the seclusion from the noise of the crowd secured the clarity I thrive in.  Because I was the acting head coach, I had to be on the field.  Miles and I got to interact in a way that we never had before.  When the offense was on, he was the glue.  He knew what I was thinking and I trusted him more than I have ever trusted a player.  When the defense was on the field, he and I were right next to each other on the sideline discussing the adjustments that needed to be made.

We started off 0-2 after facing two tough out of town opponents.  Game 3 was versus Andress at Andress.  The school from where I graduated, had so much love for, and the school where I just finished second for the vacant head coaching position back in June.  They were 2-0 and riding high with a surprise win against Franklin the previous year.  It was a huge game and we needed the win.  We went up early 13-0 in the first quarter.  They battled back with some big plays in the second quarter to go up 14-13.  We got the ball back with a minute and thirty seconds left on the clock in the half.  We were surgical in our execution as we made our way to the 25 yard line.  We had 8 seconds left and 1 timeout.  Time enough for two plays.  Miles caught a swing out of the backfield and sprinted toward the sideline.  Their inside linebacker sized him up and took an angle to meet him to tackle him for what should have been a loss.  Miles put on the brakes, cut inside and made 7 more guys miss on his way to the end zone.  Our guys went crazy; their guys folded.  It was the play that broke their backs and we went on to win the game 41-21.  Miles knew what was on the line and did what he does.  Just one of many plays that contributed to our team winning 8 straight games and the district championship.

The season ended in the first round of the playoffs.  Odessa Permian.  Tall task.  Even though we lost, Miles balled out.  He has never been intimidated.  From little league until now…never.  He scored his first high school varsity touchdown versus Permian his sophomore year and he scored his last versus Permian.  Maybe not the last.  He has the All Star game this weekend.  And with some college offers already presented to him, his football days aren’t over just yet.

It has always been something sad or dark when inspiration hit me to write.  We moved back home, we ate lunch together everyday in my classroom, my sister and her family came to almost every game with Miles Big Heads and cowbells in hand, my brother got to fly in for a game, friends got to see him in person for the first time, and Miles got the recognition and appreciation he deserved.  Most importantly, he had a blast. There was only one thing missing.  I know she was watching but I wish Miles could have seen my mother’s face reacting to seeing him play.  Nothing sad or dark, just a sweeping feeling of content that I hadn't felt in a long, long time…maybe ever.

I ran into a young lady one of my first few days back at Franklin.  She introduced herself as one of our teachers on staff and was actually one of Miles’ student teachers back in his CDL days.  She wanted to assure me that she wasn’t a creep or weirdo; she just wanted to share something with me.  What came next blew me away.  She told me what a cool kid Miles was and really enjoyed having him class. She told me how he made an impression on her and how she eventually had a child of her own…and she named him Miles.   

Long live the king.