Why Tim McGraw Never Hated His Absent Father
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Tim McGraw found his birth certificate at age 11 in Stark, Louisiana, a small farming community with a caution light and cotton gin. He was searching in his mom's closet for a Crown Royal bag full of coins to buy candy or a Coke at school. Next to the bag was a box containing the birth certificate. It had McGraw crossed out with Smith (stepdad's name) written above in pencil. Father's occupation: professional baseball player. At 11, growing up low middle class, this was hard to register. He had three baseball cards on his wall, including Tug McGraw's, one of his favorites.
He called his mom at work. She reacted with shock, said "Oh my god" and came right home. They went for a ride, and she told the full story.
Mom's junior summer in high school, her mom had left her dad (Tim's grandpa). They stayed in a motor court motel with an outdoor pool. The Jacksonville Suns (Mets minor league team) players stayed there too. Tug McGraw and mom met at the pool, dated over the summer. When he left (called up), she discovered she was pregnant.
Mom was a dancer invited to audition for Where the Action Is by Dick Clark (precursor to American Bandstand). She learned of pregnancy two days before her senior portrait; Tim sees her lost future in her eyes. She hadn't talked to Tug since.
Tim wanted to meet him. Mom contacted Tug's lawyer/agent. Tug was still playing. He agreed to leave tickets and have lunch. Mom borrowed car and money from boss. They drove to the game. Tug said, "I'm not your dad. I don't think I'm your dad, but we can be friends."
Tim brought a Pete Rose magazine (Rose about to break hitting record). Tug took him to clubhouse; Pete Rose signed it. Tim threw balls during batting practice. Mom had made him a McGraw shirt and Phillies hat. Never saw Tug after the game or heard from him again.
No anger. Some affirmation—we grew up dysfunctional. Thought-dad (first stepdad) was alcoholic, abusive to mom and Tim. Second stepdad worse. House scary when truck pulled up (like commercials of kids hiding). Affirmation of not belonging with that guy. Excitement over pro baseball dad as a ray of light.
Next year, Houston game. Mom contacted agent; Tug left two tickets but wouldn't see them. First time seeing him play: entered giving up a grand slam. Bullpen 10-12 feet from stands. Tim yelled "Tug, it's Tim" while warming up; Tug ignored him. Tim dropped it, used Smith, told few friends, felt embarrassed, thrown away.
At 18, graduating high school (5'10", 140 lbs), no money for college despite some sports scholarships (football/basketball, doubted at that size). Mom considered asking Tug to pay.
Last high school football game, on sidelines pre-game, mom tapped shoulder: heard from Tug's lawyer. After game, they discussed. Next morning: contract for $300 a year for college if Tim never contacts again.
Tim: didn't need money, only request one last meeting, then sign to leave alone. Drove to Houston (Tug retired). Tim now as tall as Tug. At hotel, Tug with lawyer/agent. Tim: "Hi Tug, I'm Tim." Agent turned white—Tim looked just like Tug; gig was up.
Spent day together, dinner with mom. Tim asked mom to leave; alone with Tug: "I'll sign contract, never bother you. One question: Do you think you're my dad?" Tug: "Yes, I believe I am." Tore up contract. No contact for a year, then started seeing more.
In college, drove to Philly, met brother Mark and sister Carrie.
People ask how he didn't hate dad or turn back. Answer: Tug gave something precious—hope. Whether intended or not, reason to think he could escape his situation: "if he can do that, then I have it in me." For that, couldn't hate him.
"He gave me something that was so precious, and that was hope."
"Hope, man. Yeah. That is just... it's a bedrock of everything else. If everything else is gone, if you got hope, you got you still got a chance."
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