I had the privilege of speaking at a close friend's Celebration of Life service over the weekend. While I was prepared for my talk and the emotions that came with it, I wasn't prepared for one of the other people who attended. Last Saturday as I was chatting with some of my old classmates at my friend's service, I noticed a couple as they came in the door to the church. The woman looked familiar for some reason, but I couldn't place the face. I didn't recognize her husband, until someone told me who it was.

At that instant, I was 17 years old again.

The man was my last high school football coach, Mike Huard.

Yep, that Mike Huard. The man who turned Puyallup High School into a Washington state prep football dynasty. The father of Damon and Brock, who both quarterbacked the Washington Huskies and went on to pro careers, and Luke, who is the quarterbacks' coach at Georgia State.

When Mike Huard was my coach he had just graduated from Central Washington University and White Swan was his first coaching job. He was very tough, but fair, and didn't put up with much foolishness.

For me, senior year football wasn't a lot of fun. I loved playing, but my heart wasn't in it. The summer I was 17, for some reason my dad rode me like a rented mule. I couldn't even breathe correctly in his eyes, and I really felt the pressure. I guess I dogged it in practice, and Coach Huard didn't like it. I remember those extra laps, sprints and pushups like it was yesterday. In retrospect I had it coming, but I never told anyone what was going on at home. I did play enough to letter that year.

After football was over, the coach treated me very well, like a senior letterman.

So when I chatted with him on Saturday, he was very nice and teased me a bit about all of those pushups. I told him my arms were OK, but my left knee gives me a bit of trouble due to tendonitis. He told me about his knee and hip replacements that traced back to his college football days, treating me like a grownup. I still wasn't at ease.

Afterward, my wife Sandy reminded me that the coach was really only five years older than me. Now it's not a big deal, but back then the age difference between a 17-year-old high school student and a 23-year-old coach and teacher was a very, very wide gulf.

I didn't talk to Coach Huard and his wife, Peg, after the service. My address went well, and I hope it did my friend justice.

Now I wish I had talked to the coach more. But just for about an hour last Saturday I was that 17-year-old kid with goofy glasses, braces on my teeth and no confidence. Part of me kept waiting for that familiar voice to yell "Take another lap, Teegarden!"

So  Coach Huard, if you ever make it back this way, coffee's on me. I think I'd really enjoy the conversation.

 

 

 

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