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“You can’t beat yourself up because you’re taking chances on things. Don’t start giving up on what you set forth to do from the beginning, because that’s gonna get you nowhere, I can promise you that.” Coach Taylor’s stern voice felt comfortingly familiar. Jason felt just a tiny bit of the anxiety in his chest loosen. Hearing Coach lecture him made him feel protected, somehow, like he still had someone looking out for him. But he still felt overwhelmed by what he had gotten himself into with this house.
“Coach, I just don’t see how…” Jason began.
“No,” Coach Taylor interrupted. “No, son, don’t you make excuses. Just because you don’t see it right now does not mean you can’t make it happen. Do you understand me? You keep working at it. You have a plan. You work that plan. You do not make excuses.”
“Yes, sir.”
“You’re trying to see it all at once. You need to take one thing at a time. It’s a big job. It’s a huge job. But you take it one step at a time, you understand?”
“Yes, sir.”
“And I’m talking about being a father and working on this house. It’s a big job. You can’t do it all at once, you can’t see it all at once. But you can do what’s in front of you, and you do the best you can, and then you do the next thing.”
“Yes, sir. I know. It’s just overwhelming right now.”
“It is. Hell, son, a lot of things in life are overwhelming. You never let that stop you before. Are you going to start quitting when it gets hard now?”
“No, sir. Never.”
“I know you’re not.”
“Thanks, coach.”
“What’s the next thing?”
“Sir?”
“The next thing. What’s next on your list? For the house. I know you have a list. What’s the next job?”
“Oh, well, the guys were supposed to finish painting this wall, but as you can see,” Jason trailed off as he gestured to partially painted wall, where “we’ll finish in the AM” had been scrawled with a marker.
“All right, where’s the paint? I’ve got an hour, let’s get it done, son.”
“Oh, no, Coach, you don’t need to do that. We’ll do it tomorrow. And I can’t really, I mean, my hands aren’t too great at gripping the rollers, so I sort of have to…”
“Street!” Coach barked, and Jason answered reflexively.
“Yes, sir.”
“No excuses, you hear me? Where’s the paint?”
Jason pointed at the buckets of paint stacked in the corner. “They’re over there. And the rollers are in the kitchen, I think.”
“Alright, son, you get the rollers and let’s see what we’ve got.” Coach Taylor reached down to pick up one of the buckets.
“Coach,” Jason started to protest but Coach stopped himi.
“Street, did I ask you if you felt like getting the rollers or did I tell you to get your ass in the kitchen and get the damn rollers?”
Jason grinned. It actually felt pretty good to have Coach barking orders at him again. He felt the heavy weight of adulthood lighten just a tad.
“Yes, sir,” he nodded and wheeled off to the kitchen.
An hour later, the wall was painted and they both were splattered with specks of paint.
“Alright son,” Coach squeezed his shoulder as they both looked at the wall. “Looks pretty good. I gotta get cleaned up and get to this school dance that my wife has informed me I am attending.”
Jason laughed. “Good luck with that, Coach.”
Coach Taylor shook his head and looked at Jason. “You hang in there, son. Alright?”
Jason nodded. “Thank you, Coach. Thanks a lot. I really appreciate your help.”
“No problem. You just remember what I said, alright? One step at a time, and you do not give up.”
“Yes, sir. I got it.”
“Alright. See ya.”
“See ya later, Coach. And thanks again.”