I recently picked up a copy of The Steps, a memoir by Sylvester Stallone. I am always listening to a book. As I listen to one, I am usually adding others to my list. Normally, these are books by Christian authors. However, when I heard Stallone was coming out with a memoir, I immediately added it. This past week, I finished a book, and immediately The Steps started playing in my ear. Unknowingly, it was the exact day the book was released.
It is no surprise that I love Sylvester Stallone. I think my love for him came from my dad's love for him. Actually, I know it did. Men around the world connected with the characters this guy created, especially Rocky. Rocky was the ultimate underdog story. A man who overcame. A man who got knocked down but refused to stay down. Most of us can relate to this story in one way or another. We want to be that man. The warrior who fights for good, who uses the hardships of his past as fuel to keep going. But as I started listening to Stallone's story, I began thinking less about Rocky and more about another man. My dad.
My parents divorced when I was very little. Five years old, to be exact. After that, my time with Dad was every other weekend. Man, did I look forward to those weekends. That man hung the moon to me. He was Rocky. He even favored him. He worked out, had the big 80s hair, and listened to the music. I even saw him drink a few raw eggs here and there. As in many divorces, you have the fun parent and the actual parent. My dad was the fun parent. He spoiled me on the weekends he had me.
He would pull up in his beater of a car. Yes, I said beater. Dad drove some of the cheapest cars around. I even remember one car that didn't have any brakes. He stopped it by thinking ahead, using the parking brake, or bumping into something. He could never afford nice things. He struggled with addiction, and most of his money was spent on drugs. But as a young kid, I was oblivious to all of this. I just wanted to be with my dad.
One thing we always did together was go see action movies, especially Stallone action movies. Before even picking me up, Dad would go to the store and buy my favorite candy. Or should I say, his favorite candy. I normally didn't complain because, well, I just liked candy. He always stuck it above the visor on the passenger side of the car. I would get in, and off we would go. Buckling up back then wasn't really a thing, unless Dad said, "Buckle up, we may not get stopped."
Now, why my dad stuck that candy above the visor, I have no clue. I was short, and the visor in no way helped me. He would say things like, "Hey, is the sun in your eyes? Pull down that visor." Eventually, if I didn't pull it down, he would reach over and do it himself. And candy would rain down from heaven. I think he just liked seeing it fall all over me. (I actually teared up as I remembered this.)
We would head to the movies. Dollar movies, that is. Most of the movies I saw with Dad had been out for weeks, sometimes months, before we got to see them. It had to be at the dollar theater. Before going to the movies, we would often stop by the bank. The blood bank, that is. Dad would give blood for thirteen dollars. That was enough money to cover the dollar movie, popcorn, and a drink. I honestly didn't think anything of it. That was just the way it was.
I specifically remember going to see Rocky III, Rocky IV, and Rambo III with my dad. We would leave those movies feeling like we were men. When we got back to Dad's rented house, and there were a lot of those because I cannot remember him staying anywhere very long, he would cook dinner, and we would play around. Normally, he was still pumped up from the movie and its workout montage. He would get down and do pushups with me sitting on his back. In those moments, I wasn't just watching Rocky on a movie screen. I was riding on his back.
As I started listening to Stallone's book, it really took me back to those days. All I knew of Stallone growing up was that he was the man. But as I listened to his story, I realized that the man who created Rocky had fought some battles of his own. He had a very difficult childhood. His parents did not want him, and they apparently made sure he knew it. His mother even told him, “You are only alive because the hanger did not work.” His father was a tough man who showed very little love. His mother blamed her lack of success on Sly. In her mind, he had ruined any chance she had of becoming famous.
She was a pretty woman, but she had unrealistic ideas of who she would become. She lived a very depressed life because she was so focused on what she thought she should have that she missed what she actually had. How many people live there today? They spend their lives mourning what never happened instead of being thankful for what God has placed right in front of them.
Stallone became a man of incredible drive. He always had something to prove. He refused to accept defeat. When life knocked him down, he got back up. You can see pieces of him in Rocky. At one point in his memoir, Stallone reflects on the hardships of his childhood and the burdens people carry. He wonders if he could ever accomplish something that would finally make his parents proud of him. Then he asks a question that really caught my attention: "Can you really make people proud who never wanted you in the first place?"
That question hit me. How many people spend their entire lives trying to please someone who will never be pleased? I see it all the time. I was that person when I was younger. But it seemed that the more I accomplished, the more rejection I experienced. And as I continued listening, I began seeing similarities between Stallone's story and my own.
As I got older, my relationship with Dad began to deteriorate. I started noticing things I had been completely oblivious to as a child. The smell of weed coming from the bathroom when he showered. The leftover drug paraphernalia lying around the house. The depression he battled. I started seeing a side of my dad that the little boy riding on his back had never noticed.
Although, as a father myself, I believe Dad wanted me to succeed, he struggled to celebrate my success. I think this was similar to Stallone's relationship with his mother. Dad wasn't where he had hoped he would be in life. And sometimes, seeing others succeed, or at least what he considered success, seemed to dig that thorn even deeper.
This brought back a memory from when I was sixteen. I had been driving for about a year. My first vehicle was Ole Blue, my 1969 Chevrolet C10. And boy, was it a crapper. I was working and had saved enough money to go buy a brand-new 1996 Chevrolet truck. It was an extended cab, straight drive, with a four-cylinder engine. Boy, was I proud of that truck. Naturally, one of the first people I wanted to show it to was Dad.
At the time, he was living with my Uncle Mike. When I pulled into the driveway, Uncle Mike was lying on the couch watching television. Dad was cooking, and I knew he had seen me pull in. I walked inside and sat down. A few minutes later, Dad casually asked, "So, did you get a new truck?" As soon as he said it, Uncle Mike jumped up, looked out the window, and got excited. He immediately put on his shoes and rushed outside to see it. He was proud of me. "Take me for a ride!" he said. So we jumped in the truck and took off. My dad, however, never left the house.
I still remember that moment thirty years later. Looking back, I don't know everything that was going through Dad's mind that day. Maybe it was jealousy. Maybe it was regret. Maybe seeing his sixteen-year-old son accomplish something he had always wanted for himself was harder than he knew how to express. I don't know. But I do know that I wanted my dad to be proud of me. The same man who once made candy rain down from heaven couldn't bring himself to walk outside and see my new truck. And that hurt.
We all have dreams of what we want to accomplish in life. Sometimes we achieve them. Other times, the bar we set in our minds is so high that no matter what we accomplish, it never feels like enough. We measure our lives against the things we thought we would have, the people we thought we would become, and the recognition we thought we would receive. And when life doesn't turn out the way we imagined, we have a choice to make. We can become bitter over what we didn't get, or we can learn to be grateful for what we've been given.
My dad wanted to be Rocky. So did I. But somewhere along the way, Dad missed what success truly meant for a man. And the heartbreaking part is that I don't think anyone ever told him. Even as I listen to Stallone's incredible story and hear about all of his achievements, I keep hoping that somewhere along the way, he will discover the greatest achievement of all: knowing Christ. I keep longing for Jesus to show up in his story.
Stallone reflects on how his difficult upbringing created a relentless drive within him. His parents' rejection became the fuel that pushed him to prove everyone wrong. He wonders whether their harshness actually made him stronger, whether those experiences made him emotionally battle-hardened. There is no doubt our past experiences shape who we become. Sometimes pain produces perseverance. Sometimes rejection creates determination. Sometimes the people who hurt us the most become the very reason we push ourselves so hard. But there is a danger in allowing our pain to become our purpose.
Because if our entire lives are spent trying to prove someone wrong, when will we ever be satisfied? How much money is enough? How many accomplishments will it take? How much recognition must we receive before we finally believe we have become somebody? And what happens if the people we desperately want to make proud never acknowledge any of it?
Jesus asks a question in Mark 8:36 that puts all of this into perspective: "For what does it profit a man to gain the whole world and forfeit his soul?" (ESV). We can spend our entire lives chasing the applause of men and miss the approval that matters most. We can win every fight the world puts in front of us and still lose the battle that matters for eternity.
As I think about my dad today, I realize something I couldn't understand when I was younger. My dad wasn't a perfect man. He had battles that I didn't understand as a young boy, and some I still don't fully understand today. But I know he loved me. He may not have always known how to express it, and there were certainly times when his struggles got in the way, but a man who would give blood just to take his son to the movies was showing love in the ways he knew how.
And maybe that's what makes this story so difficult for me. My dad spent so much of his life struggling with what he didn't have and what he hadn't accomplished that I wonder if he ever recognized what he did have. He had a little boy who thought he hung the moon. A son who couldn't wait for every other weekend. A kid who thought his dad was the strongest man alive. He didn't have the money, the fame, or the success he may have dreamed of, but in the eyes of that five-year-old boy, he was already somebody.
I wonder if he ever knew that.
Rocky was a story about a man who refused to stay down. But the greatest victory a man can ever experience isn't found in how many times he gets back up, how much money he makes, or how many people know his name. It's found in Jesus Christ. The world tells us to keep fighting until we've proven our worth. Christ tells us that our worth isn't found in the things we accomplish. We don't have to spend our lives trying to earn an identity that can only be found in Him.
For years, I thought my dad was Rocky because of how strong I thought he was. As I got older, I realized he was Rocky because of how much he was fighting.
This book reminded me of my childhood and brought back good memories and some tough ones. As I listened, I found myself longing for Stallone to find Christ, and it reminded me of how I longed for the same thing for my dad. In no way am I saying my dad did not know Christ, but I do know that he struggled to experience the fulfillment and contentment that only Christ can provide. I wish he could have seen himself through a different set of eyes. Not through the lens of his failures, his addictions, or the things he never accomplished, but through the eyes of the little boy who loved him and, even more importantly, through the truth of what God says about us.
Maybe that's why I'm sharing all of this. Maybe there is another man out there who feels like he has spent his entire life fighting, trying to prove himself, trying to become somebody, or trying to earn the approval of someone who may never give it. Maybe there's a father out there who thinks he has nothing to offer his children because he hasn't accomplished what he thought he would. If that's you, I hope you understand something my dad may never have fully understood. Your greatest accomplishment will never be found in what the world says makes you successful. It will be found in knowing Christ and faithfully living the life He has called you to live.
And if you're a dad, don't miss the people God has placed right in front of you while you're chasing the person you thought you were supposed to become. You may already mean more to them than you could ever imagine.
As I end, I still don't know exactly why this book brought all of this out of me or why I felt compelled to share it. But I know my Father does.
To the real-life Rockys out there.
— Chuckie