We are here to celebrate a life.
That’s what Bill Schonely said. Team Chaplain Al Egg said. And every other speaker at Jerome Kersey’s public memorial service said or spoke to Monday afternoon at Portland’s Memorial Coliseum. But while a preferred alternative to grief, and by all accounts a worthy recipient in Kersey, I’ve begun to ponder the following: Why do we wait?
Last summer, while tossing a beverage or two at my local golf club, I was forced to confront the fragility of life and all of us who live it. In and around my circle, a handful of people – albeit somewhat advanced in age – had passed away in recent months, and in the wake of such I found myself amongst a chorus of “what a great guy” sentiments. Yes, it was true, these men were great guys and were certainly worthy of the praise and adoration their friends and family were heaping upon them. But while praise in remembrance goes a long way for the people left to grieve, it seemed a waste not to have acknowledged such to the very person so worthy of the respect.
I enjoyed hearing of Jerome’s charitable contributions, what he meant to his family and friends, and stories of anonymous selflessness by those in or near his inner-circle. But while I’d never heard anything to the contrary, I’d also knew little of just how much he meant to his teammates, family, and the community that knew him best.
And that’s a shame.
In an era of me-first and “get mine” athletes, we hear frequently of the bone-headed acts committed by the bone-headed athletes. But unfortunately for us all, for reasons unbeknownst we infrequently hear the stories of the Jerome Kersey’s of the world: The players who do the right things, give back to the communities in which they did and do live, and provide the type of example kids and adults alike can look up to.
And in spite of a notion to the contrary, there are far more of the good ones than the bad ones we hear more about.
Charles Barkley once famously said, “I am not a role model.” Sorry Charlie, but in spite of your preference (that parents be their kids’ role models), kids do and always will look up to their sports heroes. Chaz may not like that fact, but due to it being just that, it’s important that these athletes conduct themselves in a proper manner and that when they do, it’s reported as much if not more than when the knuckleheads do not. That’s why we need to hear more about the Jerome Kerseys of the world, and preferably when they’re around to hear it, as well as continue to spread the word to people who’d benefit from hearing it most.
Would you rather have your kid hear about and from Aaron Hernandez or Tim Tebow? Would you rather he or she look-up to Alex Rodriguez or Derek Jeter? Or how about Dennis Rodman or Tim Duncan? Sadly, it’s not the anonymous act of kindness we hear about in the news, but more likely the cheating, drug-taking, wife-beating, philandering antics made famous by Lance Armstrong, Tiger Woods, Ray Rice, and pretty much every baseball player from the 1990’s. It isn’t always necessarily how it is, but it is how it’s represented by a society seemingly more interested in the loud handful of bad eggs, opposed to the silent majority doing it right.
I applaud Jerome Kersey for what he represented in the wake of his death, but would rather have done so in the midst of his life. He was what many like him are, as well as what many more would like to become. But in spite of the good he and others represent, we’re stuck bemoaning the bad, and the acts they and their brethren too frequently commit
Rest in peace, Jerome. And thank you to all the anonymous players like him, who we should be thanking aloud … before it’s too late.
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