It Started In the Front Yard

My dad built our family home from the ground up when I was about five years old.

It’s a split-level, two-story house with two beautiful real rock fireplaces that still feel like the center of everything when I walk in.

But it wasn’t the house that shaped me most.

It was the space.

About two acres surrounded us. To the right side of the house was a flat area we used as our basketball court. A pitcher’s mound and backstop where I threw and hit nearly every evening in the spring and summer. An open stretch of front yard where Dad threw me fly balls and we played football with my siblings — sometimes with a few buddies from school.

Dad was a quiet man. Strong. Steady. The unquestioned anchor of our family.

He didn’t give long speeches. He gave time.

Looking back, without realizing it, I’ve spent the last thirty years trying to recreate that feeling for someone else.

The feeling of being seen.

Of being guided.

Of being held to a standard because someone believed you could meet it.

Culture doesn’t begin in a locker room.

It begins in moments.

In presence.

In repetition.

In consistency.

The older I get, the more I realize that what we build in athletics is rarely about systems first.

It’s about space.

Do kids feel safe to grow?

Do they feel challenged to improve?

Do they feel anchored by something steady?

Foundations aren’t built in a single speech or a single season.

They’re built daily.

It started in the front yard.

And in many ways, I’m still building from there…