When The New York Times team hit the play button in a nondescript hotel room in Canton, Ohio, I wonder if they had any idea what was coming. They were there to record Sydney Seau, the 21-year-old daughter of Junior Seau, the legendary linebacker for the San Diego Chargers (he also played for the Miami Dolphins and New England Patriots, but was a hometown favorite of Southern Californians). He retired from his 20-year career in 2009, but sadly committed suicide in 2012. His family filed suit against the NFL in 2013, claiming that Seau’s suicide was related to brain damage incurred by repeated hits on the field.
It’s all very sad, and even more so when Seau’s daughter Sydney was informed she couldn’t speak on behalf of her father at his induction ceremony into the Pro Football Hall of Fame. Five years ago the Hall adopted a policy where deceased inductees would be honored with a video, not a live relative speech. Sydney claimed her father asked her specifically to give his acceptance speech in case of his death. But it looked like Sydney’s comments would be limited going into last Saturday’s celebration.
That’s when she hosted the press, calmly giving the speech she wanted to give at the induction ceremony. And boy was it a speech.
She started with thanks—particularly thanking the Pro Football Hall of Fame who, don’t forget, restrained her ability to speak publicly in the first place. But there was no hint of irony in her delivery, “I would like to thank the people of Canton, Ohio . . . the Pro Football Hall of Fame committee for voting my father into the Hall, and of course the other seven deserving inductees.” She went on to thank her Nana, Papa, aunts, uncles, mother, and brothers, saying “without you he wouldn’t have been the man, the player or the father he was.” She sat calmly and spoke clearly, obviously charged but with no hint of weakness or flippancy. This is a different tone of thankfulness than lifting an award above one’s head and speeding through a laundry list of names.
It had the feel of someone saying thank you for the last time, and maybe that’s why it was so special. And Sydney, with gravity beyond her years, wasn’t afraid to mention that aspect, either. “He was basically superhuman,” she smiles. “He was caring, gentle, hilarious and generous . . . But I think what we tend to forget about our favorite invincible, unstoppable, indestructible super humans is the minor detail that they are also human. That is something that we all must endure today without his physical presence.”
“We all endured a loss,” she said. “Thousands lost their all-time favorite linebacker, hundreds lost their favorite Charger, tens lost their buddy, and four lost their father.” How she kept going at this point I can’t say. I’m surprised the cameraman kept it together.
But what immediately follows the reference to his death is very important. Sydney gives us a little hint as to how she’s moving forward. “We are still here,” she says. “We can keep working today, we can keep building our tomorrows, and we can keep praying for the rest.” In the face of deep loss, she acknowledges that we still have some limited control over various aspects of life. We can choose to work, to have goals for the future, to commit what we cannot see to our Creator. And in Sydney’s case, she can choose to be thankful, to remember her father playing a ukulele.
It’s a powerful statement. She could have railed against the NFL for endangering her father, she could have embarrassed the Hall by referencing their reticence to give her the platform, she could have ignored her father’s suicide completely and just said “thank you for this award” and turned off the mic. But instead she chose to remember him as a fun, loving, heart-filled man. One who, like the rest of us, is a human, regardless of his impressive athletic prowess. And as a human, was frail, which made his moments of glory a little brighter.
And in doing so Sydney Seau didn’t just honor her father’s legacy. She blessed the rest of us, who in the face of trials can only hope to show the same level of thankfulness and hope.
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