When the Washington Commanders drafted Jaylin Lane in the fourth round of the NFL draft my first thought was I need to get my father’s reaction to this. I’ve had these moments before where I simply forget that my father has passed and get the urge to call him.
I don’t know how this conversation would have gone with the mental state he was in over the past year but before that it would have been a good one. Lane was impressive at Virginia Tech. He showed the ability to stretch the field and get open beyond the defense. There were a number of games I watched where the rotating menagerie of sub-par VT quarterbacks missed him. Lane would be wide open down the field and the ball would either sale 15 feet over his head or land 10 feet in front of him. Obvious touchdown passes missed because the wideout was more talented than the quarterback. It is an exciting pick-up for a team with one of the best rookie quarterbacks in NFL history, and good value in the fourth round.
For now on the Commanders are connected to my memories of my fathers and it isn’t the time we went to a game and a visiting Eagles fan pissed on someone in the stands or the time we watched Washington surprising upset of the Ravens in the year Baltimore won the Super Bowl. It was a phone conversation and the NFC championship win on the day he passed and using a portion of his life insurance to purchase Commanders season tickets.
I used to call my father whenever I finished grocery shopping. It was a thing I did. I have no idea why I did it but a conversation with my father often occupied my time while driving home, and it was on one of these occasions that I had what I consider the last good conversation I had with my father or the last time I felt like I was really talking with him.
The NFL season was a few weeks old and the Commanders were on a surprising run behind rookie quarterback Jayden Daniels. I mentioned to him as how it felt like it did when I was a kid. “Their is excitement around this team,” I told him and added, “It’s going to be like when I was a kid where we’d play football in the street pretending to be Washington players. Remember when I did that? I always wanted to be Art Monk.”
He replied to me, “I did that too but was always Sammy Baugh. You think this kid is really going to bring that back and not be like everything else?” We talked a little more and then I was home. Time to put away the groceries. It felt good. My father was always so strong willed and determined that I had a hard time not thinking he’d recover from anything. Even in his last days I expected him to rise out of the bed and ask what all the fuss was about.
It was natural to want to call him to talk about his NFL team drafting a player from his college team, and that intrusive thought paraded through my head immediately after the pick was in.
David Huzzard Writes 