Nine years ago, on Fathers Day 2016 I published a blog post called “Life Lessons from my Old School Sports Dad.” It is one of my most requested articles, and I love to reshare it every Fathers Day because the lessons have become even more important as my own children have grown up. This year, I sent my dad a Fathers Day card, thanking him for all those lessons he taught me, but given a busy life and a slow US Postal Service, sadly it did not arrive on time, for two days after Fathers Day, my dad passed away. He was my coach. He was my father. And over 53 years, he was one of my best friends. And he never got to read my words of thanks. 

My father Desmond O’Sullivan, 90 years old, passed away in his sleep on June 18. My sister was there and handed him his own Father’s rosary beads as he took his final breath. My brother joined soon after, and I was 3000 miles away as we cried together on the phone. He was suffering in his last years, and it was a good thing that he passed in his sleep, in his home, surrounded by people who loved him. But he was still gone.

If you asked me to describe my father in terms of what he did for a living, I would say he was a fireman who happened to practice law and coach on the side. Many decades ago as a New York City fireman, he was injured and had to retire from active FDNY duty, but he spent 57 years as a local volunteer firefighter, rising to the rank of chief. When he could no longer attend fires – in his 70s – he continued teaching firefighting to the probationary men and women. He always asked our community “what can I give” and not “What can I get.” He also served his community as an Assistant US Attorney in Brooklyn and an Assistant District Attorney, before going into private law practice. And oh yeah, he coached for over 20 years on top of it all. 

Upon his passing, the firemen from Port Jefferson Fire Department in NY were incredible in the way they honored his decades of giving. When they heard he had passed, 6 trucks and 30 firemen showed up in full gear to pick up his body. They stood at attention and gave him a guard of honor at his wake, transported his casket to the church and the cemetery with a full procession of fire trucks and police cars, and even hosted the reception afterwards. They embraced our family and turned our saddest moment into one of awe and gratitude. I witnessed an incredible brotherhood and sisterhood as they honored him. He meant so much to them. 

But what did he mean to me? Here are a few lessons I have been reflecting on, especially in light of the many stories the firemen told us these last few weeks:

Dad Was a Truth Teller

As one of the firemen said at his wake, “I have only been afraid of 3 people in my life, and your dad was two of them.” My dad was one of my first coaches, and boy was he tough. It was very hard to get praise out of him, but when you did, it really meant something. It allowed me to appreciate coaches who could give me honest and direct feedback and didn’t tell me everything was all right in the moments when I knew it was not. It was hard. It was not always easy on my siblings and I, but it drove us to become successful athletes, business owners, and most importantly, good people. You didn’t always like what he said, but he always gave it to you straight.

Dad was a Man of Integrity

My father always chose the hard right over the easy wrong. If you were doing sprints, you better touch that line. You better not cut around the wrong side of the cone. You better not say something to a person‘s face and do something completely different behind their back. You can treat people fairly, but not equally. And don’t go complaining to a coach about playing time or recognition unless you had maximized everything in your control. Show up early, stay light, be fit and strong.  He taught us to earn everything, from our first sports teams to our first jobs. Don’t ever expect a hand out, go out and earn it, and even if you don’t achieve it, you will become something better on the journey. I was amazed as his former players, family and friends drove from neighboring states to pay their final respects, such was his influence on their lives.

Dad Allowed me to Learn the Harsh Lessons in Sports

Quite a few of the firemen told stories about how when they were first starting out, and they had to take the hose into their first burning building, my dad would stand behind them with a hand on the shoulder saying “I got your back, but you have to do this on your own.” He did that for us as kids growing up as well. He allowed us to mess up. He created the space for us to make mistakes and learn. And he did not intervene when we got benched, when we didn’t make a team, when a coach was being difficult. He taught us to go have an adult conversation from a very young age and to advocate for ourselves. He had our back but let us take the lead. That is a lesson that I use every day.

Dad Taught us to Lighten the Load

Many young firefighters fill their pockets with unnecessary gear, and my father was well known for reaching into those pockets and dumping everything that was not essential. What a wonderful metaphor for life as well. Don’t value your possessions or your things, but value your people and your experiences. Don’t fill your life with unnecessary shit because it will get in the way of things that matter the most. Flashy cars and expensive clothes will never take the place of beautiful human experiences, and making memories with the people you love the most takes precedence over everything.

He Knew His Influence Was Never Neutral

My father took great pride in supporting young firefighters as they joined the professional ranks in the FDNY. He was known for driving them to their first day on the job, for helping them get through Proby school and the Academy, and so much more. He was also always aware of his influence on us. While he was not always quick with the “I love you” he showed his love through acts of service. He never stopped parenting, never stopped asking “what do you need right now?” He did his best to model all of his expectations for us and to hold us to a standard each and every day. As I went through a very painful divorce 2 years ago, in every phone call he would ask about the kids and always remind me “no matter how much it hurts John, don’t say a bad word about their mom to them. They deserve to love their mom and make their own decisions.” It was, and still is, some of the most important advice I have ever gotten. 

I miss my dad so much. It’s hard these days when evening rolls around, which was the time I used to pick up the phone and have a chat about the recent New York Yankee game, how the politicians were ruining our country, or one of his other favorite topics. I miss his voice. I miss his advice. I miss his constant reminder that it’s not about rules, it’s about standards. 

So tonight, as I write these words, I listen to my dad’s voice. You see, he had a beautiful tenor voice, and seven years ago at 83 years old he could still sing, so my brother decided to record him singing his favorite song, “Danny Boy.” We found this recording and played it at his wake, and there was not a dry eye in the house (click here if you want to listen). My eyes are filled with tears now as well.

Tears of friendship. 

Tears of love. 

Tears of gratitude.

Tears for my old school dad. I love you pop, and miss you more than you can ever know. Thank you. For it all.