Strength to be Like Drew Brees

We’ve all had our heroes or someone we looked up to in life. We’ve admired their actions and felt awed by their presence. They are our leaders who we cheer for and sometimes aspire to be. But when they seem so perfect, powerful and different from us, where do we get the nerve to try to be like one of them? Where do we get the strength?

Last week, on an extremely hot and humid day, I stood in line for an hour and a half at Octavia Books in New Orleans to buy a signed copy of Drew Brees’ memoir, “Coming Back Stronger”. The line was around two city blocks and included a diverse group of people ranging from lawyers to nurses to college students to a columnist for the Abbeville Meridional.

I had had my own book signing at Octavia Books in 2007 when my novel, “The Chicken Dance” was released. Everyone was welcomed, but the store only sold twelve copies. For Drew Brees’ signing, we had to pre-purchase tickets, and the store sold twelve hundred copies.

As I stood in line waiting to see the famous Saint’s quarterback, I couldn’t help but wonder why his book signing was so much more successful than mine. Granted, he led a team to a Super Bowl victory. But I wrote a book about a little boy whose life changed after winning a poultry-judging contest. Wasn’t that just as marketable, if not more so?

There is no argument that Drew Brees and I are very different people. But we also have many similarities.

We are both men. We’ve both written books and had signings at the same store, and although I have never dated or married a girl named, Brittany, I have most definitely danced to one’s music.

Drew Brees and I have even both torn our rotator cuff during a football game. His accident was from an attempt to save a fumbled ball during a game with the Denver Broncos. Mine was because I’d mistakenly gotten a massage right before playing flag football and the coco butter all over my body made me skid across the ground into a sideline post.

As the line moved up closer to Drew Brees and his memoir, I questioned why I was there. I rarely read autobiographies, let alone ones by athletes. I hadn’t even heard of this man until 2008 when my sister brought me to my first Saints’ game.

Was I buying the memoir to put on my coffee table to showcase to visitors? Was my intention to give the signed book as a gift? Would I even read it?

As my section of the crowded line made its way out of the heat into the same building as Drew Brees, we all nervously fidgeted like a child needing a bathroom or about to sit on Santa Claus’ lap. A lawyer hung up his cell phone in the middle of contract negotiations, a nurse put on lipstick and eyeliner, and the Abbeville Meridional columnist got his camera ready.

The man we were all there to see was sitting at a table quickly signing book after book. To his left were stacks of his memoir that store workers handed to customers as they redeemed their pre-purchased tickets.

I turned around to the lawyer behind me and asked if he could get a picture of me picking up my books. I stopped to hand him my camera, and a woman who worked at the store told us to keep the line moving.

When I reached the table, I faced the lawyer so he could photograph this split second moment for which I’d waited an hour and a half. The bookstore worker instructed me again to keep moving, and then made a face that couldn’t be described as friendly. So I moon walked as I handed in my ticket, grabbed my book and posed for the picture.

When the flash went off, the bookstore line cop rolled her eyes and said, “Men.”

The ruckus made Drew Brees pick his head up from the book he was signing. He looked around quickly and blinked his eyes. Then as if he had been caught doing something bad, he whispered, “I’m sorry.”

With my prized book in my hand, I stepped outside and reviewed my photograph on my digital camera. I planned to put it on my web site and email it to my sister to make her jealous. But the joke was on me because the lawyer had only captured an image of my shoes.

I didn’t dare go and ask the line cop to take another picture, and instead opened my book to look at Drew Brees’ signature. It was big and bold and unreadable like a doctor’s or kindergartener. But it was art to me, and it was mine.

When I got home, I immediately started reading, “Coming Back Stronger.”

The quarterback talks about his childhood, relationships and pivotal moments in his life. In many of the stories, he expresses how he felt beaten down and lost. But in each of them, he brushed himself off and stood back up stronger than ever.

In his most powerful recollection, Drew Brees tells about his last game with the San Diego Chargers when he dislocated his shoulder and tore his rotator cuff. His career in the NFL was at risk and his confidence was tested. When I tore my rotator cuff, my biggest concern was that I’d still be able to pop and lock on the dance floor.

Yet, there have been many times when I felt beaten. Like it was me against the world, and that I didn’t have the strength for the battle. From, “Coming Back Stronger,” I learned that even heroes face challenges and defeat, but it’s their choice to never quit which gives them the power to rise to the top.

Drew Brees did more for the city of New Orleans and state of Louisiana than lead the Saints to a Super Bowl victory. He related to us at a time when we needed someone who understood what it felt like to be overwhelmed, scared and beaten down. That is why I stood in line for an hour and a half to get his memoir and signature, and why I’d do it again tomorrow and the next day and the next.

My black and gold hero and I probably have more differences than similarities, and chances are I’ll never lead a football team to a Super Bowl victory. But I still aspire to have the confidence and determination of this man who faced adversity and came back stronger. I still aspire to have his strength.