No. 40: The Man I Call Dad and The Man my Kids Call Daddy

plus O's favorite things ever.

I had the unique experience of being raised by a man many strangers called their hero. A legendary beast on the football field, a prolific speaker on the stage, a humble servant in the church—a dad in our home. More often than not, children of public figures share war stories of what it’s like to be raised by a very different version than the world gets to see.

That wasn’t my experience.

When I was a little girl struggling with what I now know is anxiety, no matter how hard I tried, I simply couldn’t feel safe. I didn’t feel safe on airplanes. I didn’t feel safe on playdates. I didn’t feel safe in a relatives house. I didn’t feel safe to get into bed past 8pm. I didn’t feel safe to eat certain foods at certain times. Eventually, I didn’t feel safe to be in my own bedroom at night. When my mom would find me curled up in the guest room bed yet again, she’d hand me over to Dad. We’d sit on the plaid loveseat in the corner of the family room in the dark. “You can’t let the enemy run you out of your room, sweetheart” he’d say. “Can’t let him run you out of anywhere.” And he’d pray that I would be strong and courageous. Filled with peace that passes understanding.

“You are so beautiful” he’d say. “You have to say that," I’d respond. I asked him why I had to look different than everyone else. From my friends. My four sisters. Why were my feet so big? “Because God made you strong.” Why was I so tall? “Because God made you to stand out.” Why does my hair stick straight up all around my face? “Because you’re my sunflower.”

He shaped me.

Yes, there were years after retiring from the game where he was an intense presence in our home. Yes, discipline was a heavy focus and the methods were unconventional at times. Yes, I was often woken up in the middle of the night when he had finished working to go run in the Chicago snow as punishment. Yes, talking back to my mom (who he often reminded me was “his wife”) earned me crab walks and footwork drills for an hour in the basement. Yes, one time when my sister and I were fighting on vacation the summer I was 18 he told me I wasn’t allowed to go to college. He said it with a straight face— he meant it— and it was the most terrifying week of my life.

There were years where I felt I couldn’t escape my dad’s gaze. Like every time I messed up, he knew about it and was ready to address it. “Imma be on you like white on rice, sweetheart, because I love you.” I couldn’t stand it and was sure I’d be better off without it. The gaze of Mike Singletary is a heavy weight to bear, but when he became an NFL coach and that famous gaze was elsewhere, I nearly ruined my life running with all that free space on my shoulders. I learned that it was his daily prayer, conversation, teaching and training that saved me from myself. And as I snuck tests into my room—of the failed Chemistry and pregnancy variety—I ached with the knowing that he was right.