A Tribute to My Dad

Lee Simmons, my father, was a unique man, with countless friends spread across the spectrum of humanity as no other person I know of.

Part of that spectrum included those who loved sports, as my father did.

When he came into my life at a very young age, I was fatherless—my birth father unfortunately and tragically committed suicide.

For my brother Mario and I, my father's arrival was a true godsend.

As any child can tell you, growing up without a dad is painful, especially when you know your birth father has inexplicably killed himself.

From the beginning, my dad treated us magnificently, leading up to me asking him at a tender young age if I could call him "Dad."

Throughout the years, he recounted to me how special that day was for him. It was special for me, too, because I now had a loving, wonderful dad.

I soon adopted his last name. He recently legally adopted me as his son, and that's why my name is Glenn Franco Simmons—"Franco" out of respect for my birth father and "Simmons" out of respect for my dad.

Through my dad's tutelage, Mario chose the hated Los Angeles teams as his own, and I laid claim to San Francisco. The stage was set for a competition that would last throughout all our years.

My brother won out with regard to the lackless Lakers and dreaded Dodgers, but my 49ers won five Lombardi trophies. Sweet revenge, until the Rams started beating the 49ers again.

My brother didn't live long enough to see the Rams' success in the '90s, but my dad and I shared that together, and would often "talk" to Mario.

My comments were the same as when my brother was still alive: I still hated the Rams and always will.

I often made my father laugh when I made irreverent remarks about my feelings on the Rams and Dodgers. (I no longer follow pro basketball too much.)

My father so loved sports that he continued to follow local sports at all the local high schools. He could tell you who was doing well each and every year, decades after my brother and I stopped playing sports.

In fact, the day before he died, I bought him a Sunday paper and he was knowledgable about a local team that was defeated in the playoffs. He even knew the players' names and the history of the rivalry between both teams. Amazing dedication.

With my dad's passing, I don't know how long, or if, my passion for sports will return, because that's the one special hobby I shared with him. (However, I am watching ESPN today.)

No one is perfect, but the only thing that I can think of that was "wrong" with my father, was that he was a Pittsburgh Steeler fan.

The only character "flaw" that I can find in him was that he could never see the light and become a San Francisco fan, even though he listened to and watched Giants games.

Since this is football season, I'll swallow my pride and grit my teeth and close by saying, as my dad would, "Go Steelers!"