I hope Dwayne Haskins knew how much he was loved. How happy just seeing his bright smile made people who got to see it. How Pittsburgh children were probably deeply impacted by a member of the beloved Steelers saying he had worries, too.
I hope he knew that he was so much more than his talents, than his career, than football.
Based on some stories that have come out since Haskins’ death on Saturday, it seems that last part was true. Haskins was human first and foremost, a kind young man who freely gave his time to charitable events, an introvert who made a name for himself playing the position where the spotlight is brightest, someone who insisted on embracing a reporter and praying for her when she was in tears over her grandmother’s recent death and trying to do it inconspicuously, away from the busy locker room.
He had spoken of his personal growth, the kind we all experience after we leave college, that time when we think we know everything and have it all figured out only to realize pretty quickly that we sure as hell do not. Haskins was going through that period in the public eye, with the weight and expectation of having been a first-round pick, our culture so obsessed with the draft and rankings — as if any of them are a predictor of anything — and somewhat blind to the fact that having the football career Haskins did is an extraordinary achievement in itself.
We can be incapable of seeing athletes as anything more than commodities or transactions, instead of kids who might be overwhelmed or scared or homesick. Or maybe all of the above, and too nervous to tell anyone they feel like they’re fumbling a bit, on the field, off the field, and it’s starting to snowball. And that if someone doesn’t step in to help, they might not get to play, might not get to start, might forget that just getting to the damn NFL is something so few can ever say they’ve done, and that there are people that love them for reasons that have absolutely nothing to do with…