The Day Dad Humiliated Us

I’ve never forgotten the day my dad got every one of us kicked out of a basketball game. It was 50 years ago, but you don’t get over a thing like that. 

Dad

It was my brother Mick’s fault - it was always Mick’s fault. 

Home from college for the weekend, I accompanied Mom, Dad and six of my younger siblings to a city league basketball game at Stolley Park Elementary. My brothers Joe, Mick and Rick were playing as we cheered them on from the crowded stands. We attended as a family, and we were kicked out as a family.

To be fair the game was out of control. Mick had gone up for a layup when an opposing player slammed him to the floor. In customary fashion, Dad had relentlessly taunted the refs. But in that heartstopping moment when Mick went down, Dad became apoplectic. I’m absolutely certain Mick provoked that player - which was his customary fashion. 

“You’ve lost control of your own game, Ref!” Dad bellowed across the gym.

That poor official, probably a city clerk who was filling in for some extra cash, decided he’d had enough. Ignoring Mick who struggled to his feet, the ref furiously strode across the gym until he stood in front of my 6 foot 7 inch, 280 pound father. Then he blew his whistle long and vociferously.

“Out!” he screamed. “All of you - GET OUT!”

We stared at each other in confusion. All of us? Even our two-year-old baby brother?

You could have heard a pin drop in that small gymnasium. It was clear the game would not resume until Dad and his dangerously dysfunctional tribe had been removed from the premises. We hardly knew how to react until Dad rose calmly and deliberately. 

“Let’s go,” he said shortly.

All of us before our youngest brother
Jeff's birth - 1970

In a single file we quietly marched out. The crowd was stunned. Mom gathered up our baby brother, my little sisters trailed, and I followed behind with my small brother Tommy. No one said a word, but my face burned with shame. This day would be talked about for weeks - maybe months. It was humiliating to think any of my high school classmates were witnessing our fall from grace.

I swore to never be like Dad. I only mention this now because I’m exactly like Dad. While I’ve never taunted innocent officials, I’ve nevertheless spent years attempting to tame my temper. Even at this advanced age, it can be abruptly provoked  - by snotty teenagers, oblivious drivers, or those people at Walmart who drive their scooters smack dab in the middle of the aisle.

My husband John often says that a person’s greatest strength can also be his greatest weakness. I often think, wasn’t that true of Dad?

At my father’s funeral 25 years ago, Father Jim Schmitt helped us to understand our wonderful, complicated father. 

Mick

“Dick Brown’s kids understand God the Father,” Father Schmitt said, “because of the way their own father protected them.”

Even when it embarrassed us, Dad’s temper was unleashed only to protect us - whether we deserved it or not. After our beautiful mother died, Dad raised ten children alone. During those difficult years, his temper often gave way to gentleness and compassion until almost nothing of our father’s strict “mind over matter”, pull-yourself-up-by-the-bootstraps persona remained. 

I suppose every child’s relationship with her parents is sometimes complicated. But the greatest gift Dad gave us was the unfailing sense that he would always protect us. Whenever I read Psalm 46:1, I always think of Dad.

“God is our refuge and strength, an ever-present help in trouble.”

Father Schmitt was right. We knew God the Father because of our own bigger-than-life, gentle and sometimes volatile father. He would have done anything to protect any of us.

Even my terrible brother Mick.