By Cliff Richey
Cliff Richey is a two-time US Open semifinalist, former No. 1-ranked U.S. professional player and a member of two U.S. Davis Cup title-winning teams. He is the author of the book “Acing Depression: A Tennis Champion’s Toughest Match” (for sale here: http://www.amazon.com/dp/0942257669/ref=cm_sw_r_tw_dp_tkO7ub12ZR5W7 ) that documents his life with clinical depression and his constant fight to overcome it.
I met Eric in Fresno, Calif., during one of my golf practice sessions. I was on a big empty ball field in a bad part of town.
Midway through my bag of balls a young fellow came walking toward me. He stopped and watched me hit a shot and then said, “The ball went a long way.” He walked on and I kept hitting my shots. He watched me from a distance and I was glad he kept himself out of the line of my ball flight.
He then walked over to where my shots were landing and started to pick up several balls. I yelled out to him to just leave them alone and move out of the way. He started walking toward me. Was he upset I yelled at him? Was I suddenly in a threatening situation?
As he came near he said that he just wanted to bring some of them back to me. I wasn’t comfortable that he was still hanging around. He looked to be in his thirties with quite a few tattoos. I tried not to show some of the uneasiness I was feeling.
I hit a few more balls. He began to ask me about my golf clubs. Eric told me that he and his brother used to shoot archery. I sensed pretty quickly as we talked that he was a sharp guy. I also got the feeling from him that he wanted to just talk with someone. We all need that sometimes. I know I do. And we talked.
I told him that I had been a pro tennis player and I gave him a couple of my trading cards. I told him about my battle with clinical depression and becoming an advocate for mental health. He said his Dad fought depression. His brother who he used to play archery with committed suicide after serving in Iraq. Eric told me that he had had a 3.8 grade average his first and only year in college. He was studying Psychology and Religion. His desire was to help others following the tragedy of his brother and the suffering of his Dad.
He admitted to running with a bad crowd and making some bad choices. He was arrested for accessory to murder. Eric spent five years in prison. He had recently gotten released. He said his marriage broke up and his young daughter died in a car crash while he was in prison. As a Christian, I don’t always think that every person I run into is arranged by the Almighty, but this day on a lonely ball field in Fresno I felt a need to give Eric encouragement and hopefully good advice to be able to use.
I told him he could use his life’s resume to either defeat him or as a base to jump up and improve himself. I told him that we all have the power of choice. Choose that correct path God wants us to go down and the built in GPS that he has given us.
I encouraged him to give thanks everyday for what you do have–People who love you. The bed slept in last night. The freedom to walk to the ball field that morning. We were the only two people on the entire piece of property. He helped me pick up the 200 balls I had hit. I had only met Eric 40 minutes before but we were now friends. I said to him a lot of the advice I was sharing with him my Dad taught me.
I took a twenty dollar bill out of my wallet and gave it to him. He reached into his pocket and I saw a pink ribbon bow in his hand. He was crying and began to write something on the pink bow. He wrote the date, Feb. 6, 2015 and his name and his daughter’s name, Erica, who had been killed in the wreck.
On the bow he wrote, “Daddy loves you.” Eric gave it to me. It was the bow his daughter used to wear. He said he wanted me to have it and that he didn’t need it anymore. I showed him a keepsake from my Dad and that the pink bow would be kept in the same pocket of my golf bag. My keepsake is the handle that was on the gate to our families tennis court. It somehow seemed appropriate that his little girl’s pink bow that he wanted me to have be kept in the same pocket of my golf bag with the handle of our tennis court because my Dad taught me many “handles” on life that I was sharing with Eric.
I reached out and we hugged each other and his hug was the strongest that I’ve ever felt. Tears flowed. Eric helped me with my large bag of golf balls, golf clubs and my dog, Rocket, up the hill to my van. He asked me for my contact info. I gave it to him. As I drove away, Eric was on the sidewalk crying and waving goodbye to me. I hope my friend, Eric, contacts me and tells me about the good choices he’s been making. I know you can do it pal. Never, ever, ever give up!
