On the occasion of my father’s 82nd birthday, I called him to wish him well. As we chatted, I told him about a social media post shared by his former team, the Los Angeles Rams.
My dad doesn’t pay attention to social media, so he wouldn’t know that the post had garnered hundreds of likes and comments. Many fans wished him a happy birthday, while others recalled his skill on the field and their favorite memories of watching him play.
“That’s neat,” my father said in his understated manner. I could hear the smile in his voice.
My father, Tom Mack, was an offensive lineman for the Los Angeles Rams from 1966 through 1978. He played in 184 consecutive games over 13 seasons, served as team captain, and was named to 11 Pro Bowls. He was elected to the Pro Football Hall of Fame in 1999.
But to me, he’s just my dad. He walks his dog, attends church, and shops at Walmart. People usually don’t recognize him as one of the game’s all-time greats.
The perks of growing up around the NFL
When I was growing up as the daughter of an NFL player in the 1970s, there were definitely some perks, like the trip our family took to Hawaii when my dad participated in a celebrity rodeo. After home games, my two sisters and I, along with my mom, would greet our dad outside his locker room at the Los Angeles Coliseum. My sisters and I would run around with our autograph books getting signatures from teammates, including Merlin Olsen and Jack Youngblood.
I admit I’m a bit jealous of today’s NFL kids, who seem to get on the field regularly. I only stepped on the field with my dad once, for the Pro Bowl in 1979, his final game.
While going on the field was rare, seeing him on television was another perk of having an NFL dad, especially back when there were so few channels. He was interviewed on the news and appeared in local commercials. It was especially exciting when he guest-starred on the popular series “Six Million Dollar Man,” playing a bad guy in a slow-motion football match against Lee Majors as Steve Austin.
Before football made anyone rich
It wasn’t all glamorous, though. Even though he played 13 seasons, his entire career occurred before the advent of cable TV and huge salaries.
In fact, my dad and his teammates worked other jobs during the offseason. Some of them sold cars or real estate, while my dad worked as a mechanical engineer for a global engineering and construction company.
As a kid, I didn’t think of my dad as someone with two careers. I just knew he went to work. What mattered to me was that he ate dinner with us and came to my soccer games and ballet recitals.
Other people, however, seemed far more interested in what he didn’t have.
I often got asked if my dad didn’t want sons
My sisters and I were athletic and enjoyed playing sports when women’s sports were in their infancy. People asked us constantly if we had any brothers. Whenever I replied no, I was struck by how many strangers asked, “Didn’t your dad want sons?”
My dad never made me feel like he wanted sons, and my mom echoed that. He had grown up in the shadow of his own father, who played Major League Baseball, and knew the weight that came with that legacy. He always told me he was happy to raise girls without the pressure to follow in his footsteps.
When he retired at the end of the 1978 NFL season, he went to work full-time as an engineer, and my family left the football world behind. Surprisingly, we moved across the country more for his engineering career than for football.
When he was elected to the Pro Football Hall of Fame in 1999, it was fun to revisit his career. Each summer, he returns to Canton, Ohio, for enshrinement weekend, reconnecting with teammates and other legends. The Rams organization treats him well, too, checking in and welcoming him back to games.
I love it when fans recognize him. When it does, fans get stars in their eyes. From the time I was a little girl until now, I’ve witnessed my dad remain humble and gracious with every fan he meets.
I think of him not as one of the NFL’s greatest players, but simply as my dad. He modeled hard work and humility with a dash of humor, remaining competitive even off the field — he never lost a board game to my sisters or me until we could beat him on our own merit. He took me fishing and camping, taught me to drive a stick shift, and walked me down the aisle.
He may have been a legendary football player, but I’d argue he’s an even greater dad.
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