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Truly special
Seahawks special-teams player Isaiah Kacyvenski overcame a dysfunctional childhood to find happiness and peace with his father.
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By GARY SHELTON, Times Sports Columnist
Published February 2, 2006
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DETROIT - He will not save the game. He will not take home the car.
He will not carry his team. He will not become a star.
If you notice Isaiah Kacyvenski at all during Sunday's Super Bowl, most likely it will be because you are watching closely. He is a special teams player, and to most viewers, he figures to be little more than another face in the team photo.
[AP photo]
Isaiah Kacyvenski says his childhood "made me everything I am today. Not a day goes by when I don't think about it."
--------------------------------------------------------------------------------
[Getty Images]
Isaiah Kacyvenski will play on special teams for the Seahawks in the Super Bowl. At age 15 he became focused on improving his grades and began waking up early to lift weights, eventually earning a scholarship to Harvard and becoming a fourth-round NFL pick.
--------------------------------------------------------------------------------
Nope, there is nothing much to notice about Kacyvenski.
Except that he is the largest success story on either team.
If you believe that football is a game of perseverance and overcoming obstacles, he is your man. If you believe that being somewhere feels sweeter when you begin at nowhere, his is a journey worth noting. If you believe that one child's success can be another one's inspiration, then you should get to know Kacyvenski.
His is a story of a kid without much of a chance. His was a childhood with an abusive father and a lost mother, with food stamps and unpaid rent, with second-hand clothes and nights shivering in the cold.
His is a story, too, of a kid finding his own path. His is a tale of overachievement and drive, of a fractured family and a restoration process, of humble beginnings and storybook endings.
Sometimes, the best Super Bowl stories are not about the personalities.
Sometimes, they are about the people.
Kacyvenski was one of the unfortunates, a waif out of a Dickens novel, a Lost Boy in training. He was the youngest of six children (one died as a child of pneumonia), trapped in the cycle of poverty and alcoholism and rage. His father, David, was an alcoholic, as was David's father and his father's father. There were times David's mood would darken like approaching storm clouds, and his children would walk carefully, lest they do something to cause his temper to boil.
"It wasn't easy," Isaiah said softly. "We didn't have a lot of money. There were times when we didn't have hot water, when we didn't have electricity, when we didn't have a home. It made me everything I am today. Not a day goes by when I don't think about it. I have had this fear of failure my whole life. I knew I didn't want to live like that when I grew up."
Kacyvenski sat at a table in a ballroom at the Seahawks' team hotel. His voice was soft but firm as he talked. Much of his life, he tried to hide his poverty. With a Harvard education behind him, with six years in the NFL, with the Super Bowl ahead of him, he doesn't hide anymore.
He talks about the times he would sit in the family car, watching as his father fished through a garbage container to try to find something to eat. Some canned goods the grocery store had thrown away, perhaps. A loaf of bread that had been opened and discarded.
He talks about the two times in his life that his family was evicted for not paying the rent and had to live in a tent in their hometown of Endicott, N.Y., how cold the morning dew would be in the fall, how the siblings would huddle together against the cold.
He talks about his hand-me-downs, about wearing the same clothes so often the other kids noticed the grass stains. He talks about wearing the same socks so many days in a row he was embarrassed to take off his shoes.
He talks about free lunches, and how quickly food stamps disappear, and about listening to his first Super Bowl on the radio because there wasn't a television in the house, and about calling friends on a pay phone because there wasn't a telephone, either. He talks about putting water on popcorn so he could pretend it was cereal, and eating discarded doughnuts that had fallen on the ground and half-eaten food his father would bring home from a nursing home where he worked.
Then Kacyvenski, 28, takes a breath and talks about his father's anger, about the large belt he carried, about how he came home in the middle of the night and saw the bad report card of Daniel, his oldest son. David was so angry he pulled Daniel out of bed at 3 a.m. to pin him against the wall and shake him.
"Maybe my talking about this will help one other kid," Isaiah said. "Some kids who are poor forget how to dream. Dreaming is what got me to where I am today."
The dreaming began when he was 11 and told his father that he was going to Notre Dame, and that football was going to pay for it. The determination kicked in when he was 15 and decided he had been floating through life.
"It was like, bam, a light went off," Isaiah said. From then on, he was focused. He would awaken at 5:30 a.m. and lift weights. He would wait for his teachers outside their offices and pepper them with so many questions he would become annoying. He became an honor student. He became a standout player.
When Kacyvenski was a senior, his team was good enough to play for the state championship. On the morning of the game, however, his father told him that his mother had been killed the night before in an automobile accident. Kacyvenski fell to the floor weeping.
That night, despite the advice of those close to him, he played. He scored twice and had an interception. Two months later, Harvard offered a scholarship.
At Harvard, Kacyvenski kept attacking his days. He studied. He graduated. He started every game for four years and became a good enough player to be drafted in the fourth round by the Seahawks.
These are good days. He is married to his high school sweetheart, Lauren, and the two are expecting their second child. He fears that he will raise spoiled children. There are worse things that could happen to a child.
As for David Kacyvenski, his phone rings often these days. David's voice is similar to his son's, soft and wounded, open and direct. He is embarrassed by parts of the story, he admits. It is not an easy thing for a nation to open your wounds.
This week, David will board a plane for Detroit. So, too, will his children. Even Danny, who still does not acknowledge his father.
"When I talk about it, tears come to my eyes and I start shivering," David said. "This is a love affair that's going on in my family. It's about healing and reconciliation and forgiveness and restoration. There may come a time when Isaiah stands over my gravestone and thinks maybe he shouldn't have put out so many things so explicitly. But I can't lie, and I can't hide it. We're as sick as our secrets.
"It's hard to talk about some of the stories. People call and they say "Can we get to the part where you beat him? How about where you ate out of the Dumpsters.' There may come a time when Isaiah stands over my grave site and wonders if he should have revealed as much as he has.
"But I don't live that way anymore. I know I've been forgiven by Isaiah, by God, and by myself."
David, 65, has been sober for 15 years, and Isaiah found forgiveness long ago. When Isaiah graduated from Harvard, it was David who wore the cap and gown and collected the diploma.
It was long before that, he said, "booze had a grip on me. I knew I was in a pit, and I didn't know how to get out. My children didn't know if I was going to buy them ice cream or say "Shut your mouth.' "
Perhaps it amazes you to see what the Kacyvenski children have accomplished; it certainly amazes David. All five of them are college graduates. There are two teachers, an artist, an environmentalist and, oh, yes, a football player.
Ten days ago, David visited his son in Seattle for the NFC title game. He rode to the game in his daughter-in-law's Mercedes. He rode back in his son's Hummer to a house beyond his imagination. Yeah, the kid made out all right.
The dad, too. There was a moment, after the game, when the men found themselves standing together in the kitchen. On impulse, Isaiah reached out and embraced his dad, as if they had both made it to the other side of their problems. "It was a treasure-chest moment," David said.
Perhaps the Super Bowl story will be written by others. Isaiah's story is richer. Turns out, it ends in forgiveness.
"This," David said, "is an incredible chapter to a life beyond expectations."
[Last modified February 2, 2006, 02:35:49]
Truly special
Seahawks special-teams player Isaiah Kacyvenski overcame a dysfunctional childhood to find happiness and peace with his father.
SHELTON
--------------------------------------------------------------------------------
E-mail:
Click here
--------------------------------------------------------------------------------
Archive
By GARY SHELTON, Times Sports Columnist
Published February 2, 2006
--------------------------------------------------------------------------------
DETROIT - He will not save the game. He will not take home the car.
He will not carry his team. He will not become a star.
If you notice Isaiah Kacyvenski at all during Sunday's Super Bowl, most likely it will be because you are watching closely. He is a special teams player, and to most viewers, he figures to be little more than another face in the team photo.
[AP photo]
Isaiah Kacyvenski says his childhood "made me everything I am today. Not a day goes by when I don't think about it."
--------------------------------------------------------------------------------
[Getty Images]
Isaiah Kacyvenski will play on special teams for the Seahawks in the Super Bowl. At age 15 he became focused on improving his grades and began waking up early to lift weights, eventually earning a scholarship to Harvard and becoming a fourth-round NFL pick.
--------------------------------------------------------------------------------
Nope, there is nothing much to notice about Kacyvenski.
Except that he is the largest success story on either team.
If you believe that football is a game of perseverance and overcoming obstacles, he is your man. If you believe that being somewhere feels sweeter when you begin at nowhere, his is a journey worth noting. If you believe that one child's success can be another one's inspiration, then you should get to know Kacyvenski.
His is a story of a kid without much of a chance. His was a childhood with an abusive father and a lost mother, with food stamps and unpaid rent, with second-hand clothes and nights shivering in the cold.
His is a story, too, of a kid finding his own path. His is a tale of overachievement and drive, of a fractured family and a restoration process, of humble beginnings and storybook endings.
Sometimes, the best Super Bowl stories are not about the personalities.
Sometimes, they are about the people.
Kacyvenski was one of the unfortunates, a waif out of a Dickens novel, a Lost Boy in training. He was the youngest of six children (one died as a child of pneumonia), trapped in the cycle of poverty and alcoholism and rage. His father, David, was an alcoholic, as was David's father and his father's father. There were times David's mood would darken like approaching storm clouds, and his children would walk carefully, lest they do something to cause his temper to boil.
"It wasn't easy," Isaiah said softly. "We didn't have a lot of money. There were times when we didn't have hot water, when we didn't have electricity, when we didn't have a home. It made me everything I am today. Not a day goes by when I don't think about it. I have had this fear of failure my whole life. I knew I didn't want to live like that when I grew up."
Kacyvenski sat at a table in a ballroom at the Seahawks' team hotel. His voice was soft but firm as he talked. Much of his life, he tried to hide his poverty. With a Harvard education behind him, with six years in the NFL, with the Super Bowl ahead of him, he doesn't hide anymore.
He talks about the times he would sit in the family car, watching as his father fished through a garbage container to try to find something to eat. Some canned goods the grocery store had thrown away, perhaps. A loaf of bread that had been opened and discarded.
He talks about the two times in his life that his family was evicted for not paying the rent and had to live in a tent in their hometown of Endicott, N.Y., how cold the morning dew would be in the fall, how the siblings would huddle together against the cold.
He talks about his hand-me-downs, about wearing the same clothes so often the other kids noticed the grass stains. He talks about wearing the same socks so many days in a row he was embarrassed to take off his shoes.
He talks about free lunches, and how quickly food stamps disappear, and about listening to his first Super Bowl on the radio because there wasn't a television in the house, and about calling friends on a pay phone because there wasn't a telephone, either. He talks about putting water on popcorn so he could pretend it was cereal, and eating discarded doughnuts that had fallen on the ground and half-eaten food his father would bring home from a nursing home where he worked.
Then Kacyvenski, 28, takes a breath and talks about his father's anger, about the large belt he carried, about how he came home in the middle of the night and saw the bad report card of Daniel, his oldest son. David was so angry he pulled Daniel out of bed at 3 a.m. to pin him against the wall and shake him.
"Maybe my talking about this will help one other kid," Isaiah said. "Some kids who are poor forget how to dream. Dreaming is what got me to where I am today."
The dreaming began when he was 11 and told his father that he was going to Notre Dame, and that football was going to pay for it. The determination kicked in when he was 15 and decided he had been floating through life.
"It was like, bam, a light went off," Isaiah said. From then on, he was focused. He would awaken at 5:30 a.m. and lift weights. He would wait for his teachers outside their offices and pepper them with so many questions he would become annoying. He became an honor student. He became a standout player.
When Kacyvenski was a senior, his team was good enough to play for the state championship. On the morning of the game, however, his father told him that his mother had been killed the night before in an automobile accident. Kacyvenski fell to the floor weeping.
That night, despite the advice of those close to him, he played. He scored twice and had an interception. Two months later, Harvard offered a scholarship.
At Harvard, Kacyvenski kept attacking his days. He studied. He graduated. He started every game for four years and became a good enough player to be drafted in the fourth round by the Seahawks.
These are good days. He is married to his high school sweetheart, Lauren, and the two are expecting their second child. He fears that he will raise spoiled children. There are worse things that could happen to a child.
As for David Kacyvenski, his phone rings often these days. David's voice is similar to his son's, soft and wounded, open and direct. He is embarrassed by parts of the story, he admits. It is not an easy thing for a nation to open your wounds.
This week, David will board a plane for Detroit. So, too, will his children. Even Danny, who still does not acknowledge his father.
"When I talk about it, tears come to my eyes and I start shivering," David said. "This is a love affair that's going on in my family. It's about healing and reconciliation and forgiveness and restoration. There may come a time when Isaiah stands over my gravestone and thinks maybe he shouldn't have put out so many things so explicitly. But I can't lie, and I can't hide it. We're as sick as our secrets.
"It's hard to talk about some of the stories. People call and they say "Can we get to the part where you beat him? How about where you ate out of the Dumpsters.' There may come a time when Isaiah stands over my grave site and wonders if he should have revealed as much as he has.
"But I don't live that way anymore. I know I've been forgiven by Isaiah, by God, and by myself."
David, 65, has been sober for 15 years, and Isaiah found forgiveness long ago. When Isaiah graduated from Harvard, it was David who wore the cap and gown and collected the diploma.
It was long before that, he said, "booze had a grip on me. I knew I was in a pit, and I didn't know how to get out. My children didn't know if I was going to buy them ice cream or say "Shut your mouth.' "
Perhaps it amazes you to see what the Kacyvenski children have accomplished; it certainly amazes David. All five of them are college graduates. There are two teachers, an artist, an environmentalist and, oh, yes, a football player.
Ten days ago, David visited his son in Seattle for the NFC title game. He rode to the game in his daughter-in-law's Mercedes. He rode back in his son's Hummer to a house beyond his imagination. Yeah, the kid made out all right.
The dad, too. There was a moment, after the game, when the men found themselves standing together in the kitchen. On impulse, Isaiah reached out and embraced his dad, as if they had both made it to the other side of their problems. "It was a treasure-chest moment," David said.
Perhaps the Super Bowl story will be written by others. Isaiah's story is richer. Turns out, it ends in forgiveness.
"This," David said, "is an incredible chapter to a life beyond expectations."
[Last modified February 2, 2006, 02:35:49]
