The man I know in you

If I could only find a steam-punk time travel machine in a dusty attic somewhere, I'd spin the dials to take me back to the year 2000.

To a chilly fall day at a Chicago skate park.



I'd sneak up to the edge of the concrete track, lean on the chain- link fence and look for a familiar six-year-old among the tall, gangly teenagers.

The beautiful blonde one, his cheeks chapped and rosy-red. The one with the skinned knees and bruises. My son, timeless and innocent - fearless and confident.

Tommy.

Back then, at the skate park, 6-year-old Tommy was an epically unusual equal among those lanky, edgy, swearing teenagers. Because he didn't fear the fall or the challenge. And it was a place where he could be himself - and they loved the kid whose swagger made them feel cooler.

At night, he'd sit at our kitchen table and make his skinny friends custom tees using my old white Hanes t-shirts and indelible markers. Tommy's new clothing line, featuring skateboard company logos, was a must-have outfit for the skateboard clique.

Those shirts were genuine and pure - and thus, wondrously cool. Just like Tommy.

I think the junior-high skaters saw what I saw. And with my time travel machine, I want to see it again. I want to take pictures on my iPhone and show them to anyone who doubts the soul and the heart and destiny.

Because, like a reborn soul, it seemed that Tommy couldn't wait to get life started again. Pierre Corneille, a 17th-century dramatist, penned, "True, I am young, but for souls nobly born, valor doesn't await the passing of years." And what I saw in Tommy couldn't wait.

Tommy couldn't even wait 9 months. Couldn't wait to walk around the backyard, hunting bugs and trouble and the neighbor's dog while clutching a bottle of apple juice in his teeth like Churchill would a cigar.

He looked inexplicably cool in diapers and a baby t-shirt. He didn't have time for silly things like naps or toys. He wanted the keys to my car. He wanted my phone, my power tools, and my computer. My art supplies. My heart.

On the basketball court in our driveway, Tommy would whip off his shirt and challenge his older brother Andrew and me to a game. Him against us. He would crash into Andrew and make wild shots. He'd usually finish the game with a split lip.

But every game, Andrew and I would find ways to help him score.

Because we both knew winning meant nothing - and that Tommy's spirit meant everything.

In sixth grade, Tommy was an offensive lineman on the 7th-grade football team. He wore giant shoulder-pads and a recklessly fun attitude. More than once, I'd have to call a teammate's father and apologize for Tommy's idea of a sixth-grade football hit in practice.

In games, he would smile as the opposing 7th graders taunted and threatened him. Then he'd run to the sidelines inappropriately high-fiving his team as they helped the other kid off the field.  They just didn't know Tommy.

Vince Lombardi, a football guy, said: "Leaders are not born, they are made."

Well, Lombardi was wrong.

Leaders are born - as souls - and their lives flow toward that destiny. They are drawn to challenges and causes, purpose and justice. They are pulled, pointed and directed. Perhaps their journey takes them to an urban classroom. Perhaps to a law school in Baltimore or Washington, D.C. Or to a boardroom.

Sometimes these journeys take a sort of karmic detour. Before Marissa Meyer became the CEO at Yahoo, she was a grocery clerk. Michael Dell, of Dell Computers, was a dishwasher. Warren Buffet was a paperboy who claimed his bike as a deduction on his first tax return. Jeff Bezos, CEO of Amazon, was a summer camp leader.



Or, maybe your detour is to spend a summer as a busboy in a tourist town. To get ready take on bigger things. To see, to remember.

My 6-year-old skateboarder is now 21, and he sometimes forgets who he was - who he is - under the weight of the world.

Of course, he's still innocent, generous, and creative. His soul is still infused with leadership and fearlessness. With charisma.

You see, that's why I need the time machine. To snap some pictures from the chain link fence.

To tell him, "You need to remember who you are."

"I need to show you that - if you look at your past, Tommy - you can see your destiny."

To tell him again and again, "I love you for the man I know in you."