Life sometimes is odd.
For example, I know a man whose last name is Haire. (Pronounced just like Hair, but not spelled the same.) Here's the deal with Mr. Haire. He wears about the loveliest toupee you will ever find on a human head. You might expect a man named Haire to have hair, but he doesn't.
I mention this because I, Jim Edwards, played receiver for my father, LaVell Edwards, at BYU. Now you might expect a football-playing Edwards who played receiver in BYU's pass-happy offense to have been a star, catching lots of passes for lots of touchdowns, but you would be wrong. I did play quite a lot, but I excelled as a "blocking" receiver. In fact, I may have invented the position at BYU.
Interestingly enough, I am not the only blocking Jim Edwards to play for my father. The other Jim Edwards played and starred on the offensive line in 1989, and then from 1992 to 1994. Just so there is no confusion, I am the Jim Edwards who through dedication to eating — and vigorous self-restraint from exercise — currently weighs enough to start at center. The other Jim Edwards is now thin and a seminary teacher.
I am not bitter about not being the star, because I saw things from two vantage points. I was a player and a son. The player side of me wanted me to be the star. I wanted to be Jay Miller. Slow feet, great hands.
The player side worked hard in practice for the coach. The son side of me was glad my father had Glen Kozlowski, Mark Bellini, Adam Haysbert, and a host other talented receivers. Fast feet, and great hands. The son side was glad my father had the wisdom to play those guys. I just wanted my dad to win games, which he did.
I enjoyed the highs as a son and a player, but I also weathered the lows in both capacities. Double the pleasure; double the pain.
A good example of this was my last game at BYU, the Freedom Bowl debacle against UCLA in 1986. We lost 31 to 10. After the game, I knew it was over. I would never eat another pre-game meal as a player. My ankles would never be taped by George Curtis or Ollie Julkunen again. Most of all, I knew that I would never play another down of football for my father.
I remember sitting on the bus after the game next to my wife, Lorri, and thinking I was so excited to be done with football. I was starting a new phase of my life. My wife was 38 weeks pregnant with our first child, I was about to enter law school, and I felt like an adult. Moreover, I personally had played well in the game. I had made a couple of catches, and of course, I had made some excellent blocks in the way only a true blocking receiver can make.
On the other hand, I was disappointed. We lost the game; our season had not been as good as we expected, and I knew my football career was over. I was never going to be that star receiver I had dreamed of being since I was a little kid. I was so grateful to have played on the team, I was so grateful for the successes of the teams during my years there, but I also wondered if the player side of me had let my dad down a little bit.
We did not have the opportunity to speak directly after the game. He went to a press conference, and then he and my mother went somewhere for a couple of days for a vacation. A few weeks after the game, however, he and I had a private talk. (Dad routinely interviewed his players after each season.)
He told me how proud of me he was. He told me how much fun it had been for him to have me on the team. We spoke of my future plans. It was one of many good talks we have had about such things.
My father never put any pressure on me to succeed. The feelings I had about letting him down came from me. He has always made me feel that he was proud of me.
But that last game, my last game — the excitement, the disappointment, it was all there at once. Rarely have my senses been so alive. I was soaking it all in, and it was great.
As my father's career comes to a close, I hope he has the same experience. I hope he remembers the multitude of positive things. I hope he remembers how he endured the few negative things. I hope his senses are alive, and I hope it is great.
People ask me what it was like to play for my father. It is not an easy question to answer. My memories as a player are positive and cherished. I am lucky to have played for him. But far greater than my memories as a player are the other memories. I was not just a player, I was a son. So when people ask me what it was like to play for my father, I can only give them one answer: It was great. And it was.