I don’t expect to live forever.  But I do intend to hang around for as long as possible. –George Burns

There is an inextricable link between resilience and longevity.  Resilience gives us strength.  Longevity gives us time.  Together, they give us a life not just endured, but a life well-lived.  And there is a similar link between my dad and our old ping pong table.

The Table Carries On

When our kids were young, we thought a ping pong table would be the ultimate gift to bring them all together and create a bond for our family.  But because I was in charge of putting it together, and it required the expert touch of thousands of bolts and small pieces, the sturdiness was very much in question.  On the first day of use, the table was wobbly and leaned precipitously to the left.  Our “bucket of bolts” did not have long for this world.

But a funny thing happened. We used makeshift levelers to create a relatively even surface.  And the kids LOVED it.  They played in the basement for countless hours, an activity all four could enjoy together.  And my wife and I could join in the fun at a time when finding a way to connect with them at their different ages was a challenge. And a lot of our meaningful conversations took place around the table.  It was more than a game.  It became a  safe place to solve problems, catch up on different aspects of our lives, and spend quality time.

The ping pong table itself, meanwhile, showed remarkable resilience, lasting well-beyond its expected shelf life.  It became a reliable presence in our lives and felt like it would be a part of our family forever.  Eventually, we had to prop up the table with books and then bookshelves to ensure it could still function.  And the table carried on with grace.

The kids eventually grew up and the table was no longer the social center of our home.  But we still treated it with respect and made sure it was upright and functional.  But one day, the weight of gravity was too much.  No amount of tender-loving care and attention could save the ping pong table.  It collapsed for the final time.  It was a sad moment for the family as we all remarked on the years of good times we shared around the table.  It was the perfect symbol of resilience.

The Embodiment of Resilience

In the same way, my dad was born a little wobbly.  An accident during his birth delivery left him paralyzed on his right side.  Given his condition, the doctors did not give him long to live.  But a funny thing happened.  He had braces to hold him up and developed an iron will to not only survive, but thrive.  He overcame odds at every level, achieving high honors in grade school and high school at Georgetown Prep, and later, at Georgetown University.  He eventually married and brought five children into this world.

My dad became a steady and calming fixture in our lives.  He was always there for us and showed up for every event large and small.  He refereed our games.  He volunteered at all of our grade schools and high schools.  He found ways to connect with all of us to meet us where we were  Cub Scouts.  Boy Scouts.  Father’s Club.  Sports. We relied him to be present, and that consistency was like a warm blanket.

He demonstrated incredible resilience.  As he got older, he needed a cane, then a walker, then a wheelchair.  But he carried on with grace.  And his resilience in dealing with every setback became an incredible example of grit and perseverance.  Eventually, he required more care to ensure his basic needs were met.  He had lasted well beyond his expiration date.  But he was still there.  And that was an incredible source of comfort.

Longevity matters.  Showing up matters.  Resilience matters.  

My dad passed away this week.  The weight of gravity became too much, even for him.  We remembered all the good times we had with him and the soothing memories of a constant presence.  He was a good man.  He was the embodiment of resilience.  He left it all on the field and ran a helluva race!

But what I wouldn’t give for one more game on that table.