There were lots of small singular events that could have contended for "best moment of the day." It could have been the pre-tailgate pick-up game of football Miles found himself competing in on the NU practice field just east of the stadium in the late morning. It could have been the perfect weather ... the tailgate food ... or the fact that we caught one of those t-shirts the cheerleaders fire out of mega-sling shots into the stands. It could have been our seats with friends on the 50 yard line. Heck, it could have been the simple fact that NU won and begins their season 3-0. And if not ... maybe it was the fact that Miles met Kain Colter (NU's starting quarterback) after the game and spoke to him as he came out of the locker room. But interestingly, it wasn't any of those things. What really made this day special was the fact that we met Mr. Carl Hatfield.
As Miles and I plopped down in our seats this afternoon, we noticed that directly behind us was a very chipper fellow - wearing a purple wig and bright purple tennis shoes.
"Carl's 98 years old," my buddy said to me, nodding at the spirited Wildcat fan seated just over my right shoulder. "Are you serious?" I replied impulsively. "Yep. Carl was at the 1949 Rose Bowl." I turned and introduced myself briefly, but - having never met him previously - decided to not pursue deep conversation. As I turned back toward the field, I found myself contemplating the fact that the man sitting behind me - decked out in NU purple from head to toe - was older than my recently deceased grandmother.
I quietly observed Carl's involvement in the game during the first half. He was unquestionably engaged in every play, even standing with the much younger 40, 50, and 60 years-olds around him every time the defense had a chance to hold on 3rd down. Carl 'high fived' everyone around him with each new Northwestern score, and on occasion he pet his 'lucky dog' ... a small plush stuffed dog with a purple collar that lived under his arm.
When the first half ended, and the band was heading out onto the field, I turned to the man I only knew as 'Carl' and said, "Is there anything I can get you during halftime?" "Oh, no ... I'm fine," he said. "But I am going to go see if I can put my eyedrops in," he continued. A woman, unrelated to Carl but sitting behind him, made eye contact with me and quietly whispered "Can you go with him? He's 98, and I think he needs someone." So, as Carl began to make his way slowly for the exit, I walked next to him. As he reached the first of several steps he would need to navigate I extended my arm to him and said, "You know ... I think I'm going your way. Won't you let me join you?" With that I got a big smile from this fellow Wildcat, and he admitted he would really appreciate my company.
So off we went to the men's room. The pace was not fast, but I was impressed with his steady feet and quick wit. Once we navigated the line into the men's room, he turned to me and said, "I do have a favor to ask you." "Sure ... anything," I said. At that point he pulled out his bottle of prescription eye-drops ... handed me the bottle ... and said, "Would you please put one drop in each of my eyes? I want to be able to see the second half!" And with that I found myself standing in the middle of at least 50 other men - all waiting in line to (well, you know ...) - tilting Carl's head back and trying to carefully administer drops into the eyes of a 98 year old virtual stranger.
"Perfect!" he affirmed (although I know I missed his right eye and got the cheek). And with that he grabbed my arm again and began to shuffle toward the men's room exit.
"Sir, if I may, what's your last name?" I asked. "Hatfield. I'm Carl Hatfield," he responded. "Well, it's very nice to meet you Mr. Hatfield." "What's your name?" Mr. Hatfield asked me. "I'm Brayer. Brayer Teague." Of course he wanted me to spell it for him.
As we walked out of the men's room he saw a patch of sunlight beaming through the gate of the stadium, and he suggested we go stand in the sun for a few minutes to "warm up." It was 85 degrees outside, but who was I to argue with this veteran Wildcat? "Of course," I said. "Let's do it."
While we stood in the sun, I realized I had probably missed the entire halftime show. And I also realized I didn't care. This opportunity seemed far more important. We talked about football. We talked about his purple wig and purple shoes. "I was a clown from the moment I came out of my mother's womb," he told me.
"I noticed your son," Mr. Hatfield said. "He's a fine looking young man. I'd like to meet him when we go back to the seats. How old is he?"
"My son's name is Miles. He's ten ... and I know he would be delighted to meet you."
As we headed back to the seats Mr. Hatfield indicated that he'd like to find and buy one of the football programs for the day. "Why don't you let me take you back to your seat, and then I'll go get one for you," I said. "Oh, that would be very nice of you," he offered. Followed by, "Meeting you has been my 'bonus blessing' of the day." "The feeling is definitely mutual," I assured him.
As the 3rd quarter began I ran back out to the concourse to buy him a program. When I came back to the seats he and Miles were becoming fast friends. The two of them continued to interact from time to time throughout the game. At one point Mr. Hatfield leaned forward to Miles and said, "I think the coach is making the right decision to go for it on 4th down." Miles smiled and nodded, and I could tell Miles thought it was really cool that this 98 year old man was interested in talking to him about the game.
With a minute left in the game, NU finally scored their first touchdown of the game (following five earlier field goals). The timing was such that it sealed the victory, and I have to admit I teared up a bit when I saw Miles turn to Mr. Hatfield, and the two of them - both smiling ear to ear - gave one another a huge 'high five.'
When the gun sounded, and the game was over, I turned to Mr. Hatfield to ask him how he was getting home. (At that point I didn't know where home was ... but it was obvious to me that he was in the stadium by himself - unaccompanied - and I wanted to make sure he had a plan.) "There's a young man that drives me to the games, and picks me up. I'll meet him next to 'Mustard's Last Stand'" (which is a local hot-dog place about a block from the stadium). "Perfect," I said. "Miles and I are heading out to tailgate with our friends in the lot right next to Mustard's. We'll walk with you, if that's okay." "That would be very nice of you," replied Mr. Hatfield.
As we made our way through the crowded concourse of very loud and energetic Wildcat fans, Miles walked directly in front of Mr. Hatfield and me ... literally taking it upon himself to block those people who were not paying attention to where they were going from running into Mr. Hatfield - who was himself hanging onto my arm. It was very cool to see Miles take on the role of lead-blocker, as if he were personally responsible for escorting Mr. Hatfield to his destination.
As we approached the meeting point for Mr. Hatfield to find his ride, he said, "Ah, there's my young friend!" Miles looked confused, but I smiled when I saw a 70-something year old man step forward and introduced himself as 'Carl's ride back home.' Perfect.
We all shook hands, and as we turned to head back to the tailgate, Miles said, "It was very nice to meet you Mr. Hatfield. I hope I see you next week at the game!" "I wouldn't miss it," said Mr. Hatfield. "South Dakota I think." Miles smiled and nodded.
When I tucked Miles into bed tonight, and said our evening prayers, we talked for a bit about what a great day it had been, and all the cool things that had happened before, during and after the game. Something we frequently do during our bedtime routine is to offer a blessing or prayer of thanks to God for bringing someone new into our life. I found it really interesting that tonight Miles offered God his thanks NOT for the star quarterback ... but for the man eighty-eight years his senior. "God Bless Mr. Hatfield," he said.
Agreed.
