marler1972
12-22-2006, 10:05 AM
No holding back for Celina halfback
Waldrep embraces football as his paralyzed dad watches
02:28 AM CST on Friday, December 22, 2006
CELINA – On the nights before Charley's football games, nights like tonight, Kent Waldrep doesn't sleep.
And when Celina plays Liberty Hill for the Class 3A Division II state title Saturday in Waco, Kent won't be good conversation.
Too much on his mind when it comes to his youngest son. Too much to worry over.
And most of it comes down to this: "I want to see him get up after every play."
Kent's not particularly consumed with seeing Charley pile on the 1,704 yards he's already accumulated this season.
Not too worked up about watching him add to the 29 rushing touchdowns, either.
Just this: Get up.
Hardly seems like too much to ask, does it? But as Kent knows all too well, sometimes they don't.
No football case is more famous: Playing for TCU in 1974, Kent was paralyzed from the neck down in a game against Alabama.
In the 32 years since, he's founded not one but two national paralysis associations, helped draft the Americans With Disabilities Act, authored a biography, Fourth and Long, managed a medical supply business and made hundreds of motivational speeches.
And everywhere he goes these days, he gets the same question.
"How can you let your boys play football?"
Each time, the answer is the same.
JOHN F. RHODES / DMN
Former TCU running back Kent Waldrep, who was paralyzed in a 1974 game against Alabama, gets a hug from his son, Charley, after a Celina playoff win. Kent says he never wanted to deny his son a chance to play because of his injury. "I can't limit their lives," he says, "because of something that happened to me."
Even now, any time he's around a football field, Kent is reminded of the details from that fateful day in Birmingham: getting the call on a sweep; hitting a wall of tacklers who drive his 6-1, 190-pound body headfirst into the artificial turf; the immediate numbness; a woman pressing his head between her hands, telling him not to move; the naïve belief that it was just a concussion; the sudden, searing pain in his neck hinting at something more ominous.
He's seen the play dozens of times, mostly in news stories. The first time his sons saw it, Kent showed them. Charley was in the sixth grade.
The 12-year-old was left with two impressions: how simple the play was, not vicious at all, and the peculiar sight of his father running.
"Something special to see," is how he describes it.
Charley probably isn't as fast as Kent was. Not as big, either. Listed at 5-10, 180 pounds, he's closer to 5-9, 170. But he's never been caught from behind. Thick through the neck and shoulders, he's also strong for his size.
What separates him from other backs is that strength, balance, body lean, a refusal to go down.
"He's just tough," Kent says. "He doesn't want to be tackled.
"I used speed and moves. He'd rather run over somebody than make a move."
Not that he doesn't listen. Every Monday, father and son go over the video. Charley asks about his technique. He respects his father's advice because he was a running back, too, and because it's his dad talking.
But does he consider his father's famous story a cautionary tale?
"I've thought about it once or twice," he says. "But I try not to worry. I just go out there and play."
You can't play football if you're worried about getting hurt. Play with those thoughts clouding your mind, and you're done.
Still, no one in the family was too upset when Charley's older brother, Trey, gave up football after his sophomore year to concentrate on baseball. Charley, a sophomore who became the featured halfback when a senior was hurt in the second game of the season, is also a standout catcher on the Celina varsity. He plans to play both sports as long as possible.
He knows his grandmother worries, and his mother worries because that's what mothers and grandmothers do.
But his father? Kent's never told either of his sons about his anxieties.
He's not sure what effect it would have even if he did. Charley doesn't seem to need his father's approval. Or anyone else's. Not like Trey did. Charley doesn't read his clippings. The Waldreps have raised polite, respectful honor students. But Charley is also stolid, independent, sure of himself. He might have played football even if the family hadn't moved from Plano when he was in the second grade. Growing up in Celina, a football-crazy town going after an unprecedented eighth state title this weekend, probably contributed to his desire.
But despite what happened to Kent, football was a natural choice for his son. Charley inherited his father's genes, not his affliction.
"They've just accepted it and don't want to dwell on it," Kent says of his boys, "which is exactly why they've played football and not been worried about it.
"I don't want them living their lives afraid of what might happen because of my injury."
Anyway, football has lessons to teach, lessons as great as those he shares in his speeches. Life isn't fair; don't expect it to be. Accept your challenges and find a way to overcome.
In football, you punt on fourth-and-long. In life, you can't. Life's too important. Life's too precious.
Kent was thinking that last week when a 6-2, 210-pound Brownsboro player hit Charley head-on four yards deep in the backfield. Fully expecting his son to go down, to "crumble into pieces," Kent watched as Charley shook off the hit before he was enveloped by four other tacklers.
He lost a yard on the play. Kent called it his prettiest run all year.
Pretty because of how tough it proved him to be. Pretty because he got up.
This is Charley's unspoken concession to his father. He didn't need to tell his boy his greatest fears. No matter how big the collision, no matter how much he's hurting, Charley is always the first man out of the pile. No use keeping dad waiting.
Waldrep embraces football as his paralyzed dad watches
02:28 AM CST on Friday, December 22, 2006
CELINA – On the nights before Charley's football games, nights like tonight, Kent Waldrep doesn't sleep.
And when Celina plays Liberty Hill for the Class 3A Division II state title Saturday in Waco, Kent won't be good conversation.
Too much on his mind when it comes to his youngest son. Too much to worry over.
And most of it comes down to this: "I want to see him get up after every play."
Kent's not particularly consumed with seeing Charley pile on the 1,704 yards he's already accumulated this season.
Not too worked up about watching him add to the 29 rushing touchdowns, either.
Just this: Get up.
Hardly seems like too much to ask, does it? But as Kent knows all too well, sometimes they don't.
No football case is more famous: Playing for TCU in 1974, Kent was paralyzed from the neck down in a game against Alabama.
In the 32 years since, he's founded not one but two national paralysis associations, helped draft the Americans With Disabilities Act, authored a biography, Fourth and Long, managed a medical supply business and made hundreds of motivational speeches.
And everywhere he goes these days, he gets the same question.
"How can you let your boys play football?"
Each time, the answer is the same.
JOHN F. RHODES / DMN
Former TCU running back Kent Waldrep, who was paralyzed in a 1974 game against Alabama, gets a hug from his son, Charley, after a Celina playoff win. Kent says he never wanted to deny his son a chance to play because of his injury. "I can't limit their lives," he says, "because of something that happened to me."
Even now, any time he's around a football field, Kent is reminded of the details from that fateful day in Birmingham: getting the call on a sweep; hitting a wall of tacklers who drive his 6-1, 190-pound body headfirst into the artificial turf; the immediate numbness; a woman pressing his head between her hands, telling him not to move; the naïve belief that it was just a concussion; the sudden, searing pain in his neck hinting at something more ominous.
He's seen the play dozens of times, mostly in news stories. The first time his sons saw it, Kent showed them. Charley was in the sixth grade.
The 12-year-old was left with two impressions: how simple the play was, not vicious at all, and the peculiar sight of his father running.
"Something special to see," is how he describes it.
Charley probably isn't as fast as Kent was. Not as big, either. Listed at 5-10, 180 pounds, he's closer to 5-9, 170. But he's never been caught from behind. Thick through the neck and shoulders, he's also strong for his size.
What separates him from other backs is that strength, balance, body lean, a refusal to go down.
"He's just tough," Kent says. "He doesn't want to be tackled.
"I used speed and moves. He'd rather run over somebody than make a move."
Not that he doesn't listen. Every Monday, father and son go over the video. Charley asks about his technique. He respects his father's advice because he was a running back, too, and because it's his dad talking.
But does he consider his father's famous story a cautionary tale?
"I've thought about it once or twice," he says. "But I try not to worry. I just go out there and play."
You can't play football if you're worried about getting hurt. Play with those thoughts clouding your mind, and you're done.
Still, no one in the family was too upset when Charley's older brother, Trey, gave up football after his sophomore year to concentrate on baseball. Charley, a sophomore who became the featured halfback when a senior was hurt in the second game of the season, is also a standout catcher on the Celina varsity. He plans to play both sports as long as possible.
He knows his grandmother worries, and his mother worries because that's what mothers and grandmothers do.
But his father? Kent's never told either of his sons about his anxieties.
He's not sure what effect it would have even if he did. Charley doesn't seem to need his father's approval. Or anyone else's. Not like Trey did. Charley doesn't read his clippings. The Waldreps have raised polite, respectful honor students. But Charley is also stolid, independent, sure of himself. He might have played football even if the family hadn't moved from Plano when he was in the second grade. Growing up in Celina, a football-crazy town going after an unprecedented eighth state title this weekend, probably contributed to his desire.
But despite what happened to Kent, football was a natural choice for his son. Charley inherited his father's genes, not his affliction.
"They've just accepted it and don't want to dwell on it," Kent says of his boys, "which is exactly why they've played football and not been worried about it.
"I don't want them living their lives afraid of what might happen because of my injury."
Anyway, football has lessons to teach, lessons as great as those he shares in his speeches. Life isn't fair; don't expect it to be. Accept your challenges and find a way to overcome.
In football, you punt on fourth-and-long. In life, you can't. Life's too important. Life's too precious.
Kent was thinking that last week when a 6-2, 210-pound Brownsboro player hit Charley head-on four yards deep in the backfield. Fully expecting his son to go down, to "crumble into pieces," Kent watched as Charley shook off the hit before he was enveloped by four other tacklers.
He lost a yard on the play. Kent called it his prettiest run all year.
Pretty because of how tough it proved him to be. Pretty because he got up.
This is Charley's unspoken concession to his father. He didn't need to tell his boy his greatest fears. No matter how big the collision, no matter how much he's hurting, Charley is always the first man out of the pile. No use keeping dad waiting.