The picture is grainy, but if you look close you can see the clutched hands of two people, squeezing, hanging on for dear life.

It was late fall 1980, my new school, Box Elder high.  I showed up to hang out at freshman basketball tryouts with my right arm in a cast. Weeks earlier I’d broken it as I was being sacked in a freshman football game. I remember coach Williams hanging out with a few of us. At one point, to my surprise, he began telling a few of the guys that I was a great basketball player. We were new to Brigham city, I hadn’t played basketball with these guys at all, so I guess they had to take him at his word. I was a very average basketball player coming out of 8th grade at Eastmont  junior high in Sandy.  I had no idea how he knew anything about my basketball skills. Anyway, I was glad my broken arm would prevent me from having to play that year. I didn’t want my new friends to be let down by my extremely average game. What I didn’t know then, and wouldn’t realize for a long time, was that I was being “pre-judged” in a sort of way. I was being compared to one of the greats to ever roam the halls of bee-town, my Father. I suppose if I’d grown up in Brigham city then I would have heard more about my Dad’s accomplishments.  Because we didn’t move in until I was a freshman, I knew none of it. My Dad never talked about it, it wasn’t important to him, didn’t define him. My old man is no ‘Uncle Rico.’ You’ll never hear him talk about his high school dominance, or his collegiate accomplishments.

Last year I signed up for this service called newspapers.com. It basically gives you access to every newspaper archive in the country. One day I typed in Kirk Gardner and hit search.

I knew Dad was the quarterback for the 1960 state champion team at Box Elder, however these old articles gave me a little more insight as to the kind of player he was. I  loved this one. Talk about all purpose, although I’m not sure how “jarring” his blocks really were and I never knew he kicked extra points.

I knew he was a great golfer because we spent my childhood playing together in our backyard on willow creek country club. If you’ve ever played with my dad you’ll know he doesn’t play out of the rough, he’s always in the fairway. Put him at 100 yards in a scramble and he’ll make sure you have a 3 footer for birdie.

I have played the country club in Logan many times with my Dad. This next one surprised me because he’s never mentioned his ace on #2

I spent a couple days reading the many articles detailing my Dad’s accomplishments in high school and collegiate golf. There were tournaments both at the local and national level. Events I’d never heard about. It was fun sharing them with my siblings. I snapped 50+ screenshots of the articles to show my kids.

This is gonna sound like one of those ‘my Dad’s better than your Dad stories,’ but me and others believe he  could have played professional golf. I remember standing in the pro shop at the old 9 hole course in Brigham city as a teenager. The head pro at the time, Reid Goodlife, said to me, “you know your Dad is the best golfer Brigham city has ever seen, he could have gone far.” I remember it like he said it yesterday. My teenage mind wondered why he didn’t keep playing.

Now I know.

There is a lot that I don’t know about my Dad’s life before he and my Mom married. He just doesn’t talk about it much. What I do know is that all of these athletic achievements really mean nothing to him. He and Mom married young and left all that stuff behind. They had a common goal. They both wanted something they had seen in families all around them, yet didn’t experience in their own homes. Their new life would be centered around 2 things; family and church.

The childhood of my parents was much different and harder than anything I’ve known. I don’t know details, but I feel I know enough. They were both raised in homes deeply affected by the effects of alcoholism.  When I see this picture of them holding hands, I can’t help but think they had no idea what they were doing. But one thing was certain, they knew exactly what they were NOT going to do. They wanted something different and they were gonna go be great.

My parents decided very early that life in our home would be centered around church. They had seen the goodness it brought into the lives of friends and  families around them. For us boys, scouting was not optional, it was part of the program. All 4 of us had our eagle scout badge before we even had hair in our armpits.

Missions were next on the list. Darin got us rolling by going to Hong Kong. The rest of us followed his lead. Philadelphia, Chile and Manhattan all were blessed by the family these 2 kids from the wrong side of the tracks started. My dad at times regretted not serving a mission. All I can say is Dad you actually served 4 missions. None of us would have gone if not for you and mom and your commitment to what you believed and wanted.

My Dad has taught me many lessons throughout my life. I’ll never forget the day in little league football when I made 4 touchdowns and learned a valuable lesson from my Dad.  After we shook hands with the other team, I must have walked back to my dad  ‘swollen’ with pride. His words have stuck with me forever, “nice job son but did you tell the other team you were sorry?” As a kid I didn’t totally get it, but it stuck with me. He wanted me to get out of myself for a minute and think of how it must have felt on the other side. Thank-you Dad for this lesson that it’s not all about me. Throughout my life I’ve been blessed to feel empathy for the ‘losers’, the downtrodden, the poor in heart, those that mourn, the less fortunate, the marginalized.  When my Dad returned home from his ‘5th mission’ I talked him  into going to the jail with me to minister to the inmates. I’ll never forget him looking at these men with tears in his eyes saying, “I am you, I’m no better than you, I respect you.” He felt a lot of the pain these men feel. He could relate to much of what they said. To this day whenever I go in, someone always asks, “how’s your dad.” They truly felt his love for them.

Next time you see my Dad it’ll probably be in church or in the temple or serving someone through his calling in the bishopric. It won’t be at the golf course. But just so you know, behind that kind welcoming smile, is a stone cold, titleist loving, Arnold adoring, short grass sniper who could kick your ass if he wanted to.

I’m forever in debt to my parents. They chose to try something different. I wouldn’t be who I am, doing what I’m doing, living the life I’m living had they not made that choice. 

Thank you Dad for grabbing the hand of that beautiful 19 year old girl and taking that leap of faith.