The trials and triumphs of being a family quarterback

I remember my first time. It was during the summer. The internship was going well, and gas was almost the same price it is today, which meant I’d have a little spending money left over. I had my brother’s old ‘96 Honda Civic. It was everything a 16-year-old could really want. I even had a little desk that I made sure to keep clean and stocked with office supplies I wasn’t sure I would even need but everyone else had. I was a long way from doing double shifts at Marshalls.

Then, I got a phone call.

It was an automated voice, but the tone was direct and forceful: “your service will be terminated.”

It had been a tough summer, and sometimes there were a few bills that fell by the wayside. Now, one had entered my realm of influence. That day was a Thursday, and I had remembered to sign up for direct deposit when my job first started. I checked my account and paid whatever the balance was (which was roughly ⅔ of my paycheck) and never told my parents until the summer was over.

That was draft day.

For many of us who have been the quarterbacks of our family units, we’ve never had much choice in the matter. You never opted in. Every day is a press conference, and the questions and critiques come from everywhere. We have MVP years and still, oftentimes, it’s not enough. That pressure doesn’t just burst pipes; it can eviscerate your psychological well-being. You can’t be the plug if you aren’t grounded in anything.

No one else is going to pay for the funeral arrangements, so it’s on us. That outstanding bill with interest? Someone’s gotta handle it. If you get a promotion or a financial windfall, you think in terms of resource allocation.

When you take care of everything around you, it’s easy to forget to take care of yourself.

The loneliness of the quarterback position isn’t just about the struggles on the field. Most of us are fully aware of those and adjust accordingly. We play in any weather. It’s most often the compounded struggle of being a top performer but realizing that’s not your most important job. By definition, you have always had two jobs, one of them is just unseen. We’re not strangers to balancing responsibilities, we’ve been doing that long before the conversation of work-life balance became a staple of corporate environment watercooler talk.

Fewer things evoke a stronger sense of duty or a debilitating pressure than, “We’re counting on you.” It’s felt immediately and becomes the norm. Many of us have been playing while hurt for forever. We just won’t take a timeout because the costs for the rest of the team feel too high.

As a quarterback, you can easily serve as a motivation to people who didn’t think something was possible.

For example, my lack of chill is more a product of not having access to certain things and much less about me being boisterous to simply make noise. I show up in situations now and I want every inch of every opportunity.

The joy comes in knowing that you aren’t alone.

I’ve been fortunate enough to meet other black quarterbacks. They have different styles; some bootleg on almost every play, creating space to pay their cousin’s tuition so they can focus on taking the bar exam. Others stand tall in the pocket, taking shots all year long, waiting for an opening. Others, like the NFL MVP, find creative ways to dab through the pressure, giving hope through smiles and ensuring that whatever doors they open, stay that way.

When you meet other quarterbacks, the respect is immediately mutual. We don’t have to like each other. You can tell by how they move that it’s not just about them. It might just be a text. It might be a quiet moment shared together, a handshake. But when they say ” I feel you,” or “keep going,” it’s not a pleasantry to pass the time. They know, like I do, how to survive the unspeakable pain.

Here are few situations you might be familiar with if you’ve been quarterbacking:

You’re somebody’s living emergency fund.
‘Underwater’ is a term used most readily associated to describe people’s financial situations, not snorkeling.
There are people who have debts that are older than you, and you’re handling them (along with your own).
You doubled your parent’s combined income the same day you got your first job offer.
When you graduated, all 13 of your relatives in the audience (and the other 5 who couldn’t get tickets) did, too.
“Momma need a house” isn’t just an Ace Hood lyric. It’s an all too familiar fact.
Visiting people upstate is not a trip to the Poconos, and you can’t have your phone in the visiting room.
You’ve fought to stay awake in a hospital room because if you take a nap at the same time the person across from you does, there’s a chance they might not wake up, even if you do.
You have designated family office hours/conference calls because things can go left, but it’s easier if you know what you’re dealing with.
People tell you that you’ve made it and you know that you have simply managed to survive it. There is still so far to go.
Every skill you learn and acquire is a chance to bridge the knowledge gap that exists between the people you love and the places they want to go but don’t know how.
You’ve been to weddings and funerals that you’ve helped fund and are still praying that the former finally starts to outweigh the latter.
No matter how much the US Dollar continues to slip, the place(s) you’re sending it still means it will have a larger impact. Separately, Western Union is the worst.
You don’t have work-life balance. It’s just life, and you do your best to promote harmony inside of it.

The loneliness of the quarterback position isn’t just about the struggles on the field

Most of us are fully aware of those and adjust accordingly. We play in all weather conditions. It’s most often the compounded struggle of being a top performer but knowing that none of that matters. Our priorities are always in line. Any time they’ve gotten skewed, life has reminded us that there are other people and places that we are bound to.

The irony of touting American ideals as the things we are missing is that they’ve been being championed all along, just not under the right moniker, nor by people with a hue that has historically been valued as subhuman. Commitment. Integrity. Sacrifice. Hard Work. Honesty. Black family quarterbacks do all of those things daily. We just don’t have time to talk about them because we have to survive at the same time. Black emotions get policed the same way black people do.

I don’t believe in the pain Olympics; deciding who has suffered the most and somehow retains the title of most resilient is asinine and it affirms no one. Pretending that I’m bulletproof, however, ensures I’ll never know myself well enough to ask for help when it’s being freely given.

If you dig a little deeper, there is always a resounding “WHY” that governs how quarterbacks move

Grit. Determination. A healthy disbelief in limitations. When we see each other, it’s a mandatory salute. I’m more excited to tell the people I grew up with about what we get a chance to do than lauding my own accomplishments. We are going to get it, whatever that may look like, then share it as broadly as possible. We’re used to the pressure, and in some instances, we perform better inside of it. Every day is leg day when you have other people on your back, so when they get to walk alongside you, it’s cause for jubilation.

But I stepped off the podium this week, just like Cam did

I put my hoodie on, stopped taking questions, and resigned myself to the side of a hospital bed, where the matriarch of our small but mighty family unit is recovering from surgery.

Her hospital stay is the most consistent period of rest she has had that I can remember and it’s medicinally induced. She’s been resting, and I’ve been somewhere between hysteria and thankfulness that things weren’t worse. Seeing stand-up people confined to their backs with wires and tubes is harrowing. She slept, and I wrote and watched her peacefully exhale, making sure she took a knee before every game she has ever played in, which is what lets her handle the innumerable blitzes, injuries and other things that have come her way. I’m just happy I get to come off the bench for her this time. She’ll be starting again soon, trust me.