Home.

I gotta go see my Dad.

Over the past decade or so, he’s been lurking in parts of hospitals that no one wants to see. It started with a quadruple bypass – a surgeon rerouting blood like a subway engineer. Then came the cancer. An ongoing game of keep-away with metastasis. The worst word in the English language – it’s the M word. Far, far worse than the F word.

You think this sounds bad? Add a stroke to the mix.

Then he fell while mowing the lawn. Again, while taking out the trash. I said, Heal up, dude. Cut the shit! But that’s not who he is. He’d be at Hyde Park chipping golf balls right now if my mom would let him. I called him yesterday. He said he was in the backyard with his clubs. The guy can’t just keep it to the putter.

I left Niagara Falls nearly 25 years ago. At first, I was back often – restaurants, bars, the gym, the pool hall – just trying to keep one foot in the past. But time moved, and so did that foot. By the time my son was born in 2011, my trips home were rare and primarily for funerals.

Regretfully, I’ve even missed two of those.

Last year, I finally went back – to show my son the Falls, the alleys, the street where I grew up. As we drove down 19th Street, he leaned out the window with his phone. He’d never seen boarded-up or spray-painted houses. A stripped-down car on blocks. He had the camera going, as if he were on a safari. Later, he told me a guy we passed reached for a gun. I thought he was off – kids sometimes see what they wanna see. Until he showed me the video.

Homie thought we were doing a drive-by.

It’s scary that the neighborhood’s on DEFCON 4. In War Games with Matthew Broderick, DEFCON 1 was world peace. DEFCON 5 was everybody dies. As the DEFCONS increase, the chance of survival decreases.

War Games (1983).

Survival is a lonely thing.

I saw a few episodes of This Is Us, and one scene stuck with me. A boy is on the back of a father figure who is doing push-ups. The weight is real. You can see it in the man’s arms, the tremble, and the tenseness in his face. He’s told he can stop. But he doesn’t. The mom – watching this unfold, realizes something. The man’s not just carrying the kid. He’s sending a message. The other dads know it, too. No clapping. No high-fives. Just quiet respect. Because he’s doing what’s gotta be done.

That scene wrecked me. Because I’ve been both of them — the one being carried, and now I’m the one doing the carrying.

It was ironic for me that the scene takes place in a Karate School.

Because over the years, I’ve spent plenty of time on wrestling mats in a dojo, gyms, and on a judo mat – which all come with clear concepts. Move fast. Hit hard. When you land…be on top. Stay on top.

Straightforward – but never simple.

In preparation for those battles, we’d run till we dropped – because fatigue will take you out faster than your nemesis. We lifted heavy things to get strong. But all that power means nothing without skill. And that skill comes only through pain – up close and personal. Pushing. Pulling. Sprawling. Yanking, and refusing to stay down.

If you’ve done it, you know…when someone stands across from you ready to hurt you, your body goes primal. Heart rate spikes. Breathing shortens. Muscles tighten. Blood moves where it’s needed. The fight begins – even before the first move is made.  Stuff of Darwin.

As tough as those battles sound – they are nothing. Especially for the ones who are fighting a battle every day.

And that’s what I think about when it comes to my parents, and my grandparents. The ones who held it down. Who fought their battles without a mat or a spotlight. Who paid bills, held back tears, gave everything – even when they were tired.

My mom is a clean freak – a form of love I didn’t recognize at the time. The way she kept order when the world outside felt chaotic. Now I’m the one with the vacuum, the Windex, and the Febreze. My dad, who still tries to do stuff, even now, when his body screams no.

The miracle of Facebook gave my parents a window into my life here.  They watched their son fall – a little differently than in the wrestling matches.  That sucked.  But now they’re getting to see their boy stand back up.  Even at 51, it feels good to make the parents proud.

I gotta head back there soon.  And this time, when it’s time to come back, I’ll carry some love back to Boston with me – not like baggage, but like breath. Quiet. Steady. Life-giving. Not guilt. No shame.

I’m crying as I type.

The most important fights don’t happen in gyms or on judo mats. They happen in hospital rooms. At dining room tables. In silence. In forgiveness. In small decisions — do I try to stay…or do I go? Do I apologize, or walk away?

Love ain’t loud folks.

I’m going back to check in on my parents. To tell them I’m learning. Growing. Trying. To let them know that, in my broken way, I get it now. I understand what they were trying to do.

Most things, you don’t get to do over. The moral of this one is that as long as you’re here, you get to try once more.

Just like the dude in the This is Us video, something, or someone, is on your back, and you are the one doing the push-ups.

The weight is real. And so is the reason you’re the one carrying it.