Thank You Coach
Many of us have had a coach that meant more to us than just sports. A person that reached us on a level deeper than the playing surface.
Some of us have had a coach that served as a mentor, and an example. Someone to look up to. Someone who gave us lessons that have carried through in our lives.
And a few of us have been blessed to have a coach that was something more. A combination of coach, and mentor, and eventually friend. A person that we can point to and say, “yep, he/she had a hand in who I am”.
Ed Wilson was none of these.
Because Ed Wilson was all of these… with a little something extra on top. A special characteristic that set him apart, and that I could never really articulate.
But I’m going to try now.
Edward H Wilson was a unique character in my life. And I say the word ‘character’ with love, with admiration, and with purpose.
Coach Wilson was a damn character.
A man of constant optimism. With stories for days and occasionally, even some hyperbole.
A man so unique that if I were to hear that he had all-along been working undercover as a world-class track coach, while really being a government operative who travelled the world ‘in the off season’ in search of ancient underwater civilizations… I would probably just shrug my shoulders and say, “yeah, I could see that”.
His passion for coaching track and field was something to behold. Something that casual observers of the sport might not understand. Especially if they were in the habit of judging a book by its cover.
But for those of us participating and being coached by this man… his passion was on full display, 24/7. His passion was evidenced by the fact that he treated every single athlete as if they possessed the potential for Olympic greatness. Every one. Every damn one.
And as much as I enjoyed my time as an athlete under his guidance, it wasn’t until I was an adult that I realized how truly special he was.
Ed Wilson didn’t coach athletes. He coached ‘his kids’. When you came to be coached by Ed Wilson, you came to be loved by Ed Wilson.
There wasn’t an entrance exam or a probationary period. There wasn’t a prerequisite accolade or personal best. There was simply the desire to compete. To improve. To join his team… of throwers and jumpers and runners and athletes and friends. His family.
That was it… you were in. You were in, you were loved, and you were given the full might of his knowledge, instruction, and support. For the rest of your life.
You were given rides across the country in his van. You were given cookouts at his home. You were given jobs at his completely unprofitable track camps. You were given notes of encouragement as you went off to college. And you were given an “I love ya kid” whenever your paths might cross again.
And you were never asked for a thing. Not a damn thing.
Ed Wilson poured into his athletes as if they were his own children. And he never asked for anything in return. Just as a parent would do.
That is what’s so remarkable about him. He never asked for a damn thing. He just… gave.
I sit here with sadness, and a bit of guilt. That I didn’t visit more often. That I didn’t reach out more often. That every time his name would come up, that I would say “I gotta go see Coach”.
But you know what? That never, ever changed the way he felt about me. Of this, I am as certain as anything in my life.
The day that this man died… I texted with his family about coming for a visit. Their response: “Oh, he would love that. He talks about you all the time.”
I never got to make that visit. I wish I had.
But I know that he loved me. And I pray to God he knows that I loved him. And appreciated the place he carved in my life.
Ed Wilson was a damn character. And I’m proud to be one of his kids.
