Life in a Walk

A Father's Day letter on football, fatherhood and the questions worth asking.

Did you ever see your Dad cry?

I never did. Until our Mom died.

He showed up every day for her. Drove her to the doctors. Helped her in and out of bed. He was there, fully present. If you’ve ever met Will Roth, that’s how he rolls. In the moment at all times.

In our Mom’s final weeks, late at night, he would sit beside my two siblings and I on the couch and talk about her. And cry. What would start as something small would become a sound I will never escape.

I’m glad I can’t.

Because here’s what I’ve come to believe: men struggle with emotion and we are generally terrible at self-compassion. And most of us, Dads especially, learned somewhere along the way to keep it moving, keep it together, keep the mask on.

If you disagree, feel free to unsubscribe. If you’re nodding, let’s keep going.

My Dad raised three kids who are happy, healthy and chasing their dreams. He did it largely through phrases. We call them Willisms.

Love many, trust few and paddle your own canoe.
A fool and his money are soon parted.
A penny saved is a penny earned.
Man is made to move, and we move through things.

Those lines are engraved in my siblings’ and my souls. And for most of my life, those have carried me. But 12 years ago I felt the urge to learn about the stories behind those phrases.

So I asked him to for a walk…in Portugal and Spain…along the Camino de Santiago.

And walk we did. About 15 miles a day with our bag, our energy and our collective curiosities.

What came from that walk was powerful memories as well as the first film I ever directed titled, Life in a Walk. The premise was simple: I needed to actually know my Dad. Not the father. The man.

It began in Porto, Portugal and ended in Santiago de Compostela, Spain. Fifteen miles a day. Just us and two future friends with cameras and every question I’d never thought to ask.

The production plan was rather simple: each night I’d interview him for an hour about a different decade of his life. And every morning we’d lace up and do it again.

I was nervous going in. I’d produced documentaries before but never directed. Never ran the show. But more than that, I wasn’t sure what I’d find.

What I found blew me away.

One afternoon I asked him how he navigated having prostate cancer. He didn’t flinch. Didn’t pause. Just said:

Man is made to move, and we move through things.

That was it. No war story. No drama. Just clarity.

And I realized that my Dad hadn’t been holding things in. I just hadn’t asked.

This past week I was at the NBC Sports headquarters and inside the Rutgers football program. Two completely different worlds with one thing in common: the people who lead both places are also the ones willing to go beneath the surface.

Greg Schiano’s program is built upon the word CHOP. Keep chopping the tree. You don't know when it falls. You just keep swinging, fully present, focused only on what's right in front of you.

My Dad never used that word. But he lived it.

Fifteen miles a day. One question at a time. He gave me everything. Not because he pushed it on me, but because I finally showed up and asked.

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So here’s what I want for you today, on Father’s Day.

Not the golf round or the sleep-in or the perfect gift from your partner, kids, friends —though take all of those, you’ve earned them.

I want you to call your Dad. Ask him something you don’t know the answer to. Or if he’s gone, share one of his lessons with your kids today and tell them where it came from.

And if you’re a Dad reading this: let something show. You don’t have to fall apart. But you also don’t have to hold it all together every second.

The moment my father cried, really cried, was the moment I understood him most. It was the moment I understood the love he had for our Mom. The moment I comprehended that an agape love is possible. That it’s powerful. That it can rip your heart out.

And that it’s worth it.

Because he went for it, as a father and husband. Fully. Without reservation. Nearly fifty years of showing up for one person, and when it mattered most, he let us see what that meant to him.

That’s not weakness. That’s the whole point.

So go for it. With your kids. With your partner. With the people who need to see the real you.

And if you need a nudge, just go for a walk.

Much love and stay steady,

Yogi