A Father’s Pledge

The many hats a man wears to raise a child properly

By Ron Ciancutti

My father, Ronald Henry Ciancutti—son of Henry Ronald Ciancutti and future father of me, Ronald Drew Ciancutti—stared at the ceiling in the gymnasium as the light grew brighter in the early morning hours. Football players on scholarship slept on cots that were rolled out onto the basketball court at night and then folded up and stored during the day. Players were allowed one suitcase. Each morning after their shower, they folded up the suitcase in the cot and wheeled it off the floor so the gym could be used that day. At night they rolled the cots out to center court, opened them, put the suitcase underneath, and snored the boards off the parquet floor. This inevitable team camaraderie was similar to being in the Army with the relationships it rendered. Ron looked around the gym and thought how much he would miss his great friends, but he knew it was time to move on. He thought about his interview with Ford Motor Company that day. He thought about his graduation from Baldwin Wallace College in the next week. But mostly, he thought about his fiancé and how much he was looking forward to his new life with her.

Photo: © Can Stock Photo / monkeybusiness

Well On His Way

In 1953 my father graduated, having been educated through a football scholarship that brought him from New Kensington, Penn., to Berea, Ohio. He was a solid student with good grades, but his passion was athletics. One particular story from his junior year was like folklore: he had broken his leg, but played the entire second half of the championship game without telling the coach. After the victory, he was taken straight to the hospital and wrapped in a cast for the next four months. “I had to keep playing,” he later said. “It was the championship.”

His talents and determination as a defensive end landed him a tryout with the (then) Baltimore Colts. He reported to camp and had been accepted for the developmental squad, but had yet to report back to the team about the invitation. In those days, a pro football offer meant maintaining a regular job in the pertaining town and playing ball on weekends. It was an easy choice for a single man, but not a reliable way to start a family. Ron had met the girl of his dreams so he wanted to offer her a solid life, a nice home, children, and all the things he felt she deserved. 

So, later that day, when Ford Motor offered him a position as a metallurgist, he gladly accepted and phoned the Colts, saying, “Thanks, but no thanks.” Young men never think about there not being another day, another opportunity to do everything they want to do. Job, paycheck, wife, family, house, car—got them all. “I’m well on my way,” he concluded.

In the following years, that plan worked fairly well. Dad was a success at work, steadily climbing the corporate ladder.  He was a solid provider and a doting father to my two sisters and me. My parents bought and restored an aging farmhouse and filled it with family events and memories, and there was never a moment when I doubted the love between them. Kids with that kind of security sleep soundly and awaken happily; they are prone to succeed over life’s routine challenges. That confidence resonated throughout our lives. All was well. I’ll never forget the calm presence Dad brought to a room. As soon as he walked in, there was a feeling of reassurance, an air of confidence. Everything was under control. Integrity was his armor. Indeed, we were blessed. 

As his only son, I tried to absorb many of his rock-steady traits. It wasn’t heroic worship I gave him; it was just a constant level of respect from watching his unwavering, positive approach to life. People often said he was a “man’s man.” I heard the same said of his father, Hank. When I did something wrong, my dad didn’t yell. He discussed the situation and told me how I had disappointed him, how I could have made better choices. I led my life wanting him to be proud. Dad made it clear that life had a lot of setbacks, but getting up after each fall was the most important thing in all facets of life. Of course, nowhere was this more apparent than on the athletic field.

I was not blessed with his athletic talent. In eighth and ninth grades, I was a letterman in football, baseball, and track, but my achievements were always labeled “Here’s a guy who tries so hard” or “Ron always hustles and encourages everyone else,” but never was I a great physical asset to the team. Yet, being part of a team taught me so much, and I tucked all those lessons in my memory.  

A Coach Is Born

When I was 9 years old, my dad took a just-for-fun coaching job in a men’s slow-pitch softball evening league at the request of his younger buddies from the Ford factory line. The guys asked me to be the team batboy. I took that job seriously, organizing the whole bench—lining up bats, water jugs, and warm-up balls between innings. More than anything, I kept my mouth shut and my ears open. Sure, I learned to curse and spit, but I also watched how men interact: which guys were strong, respected, ignored, or carried. The lessons were constant, and I watched EVERYTHING. 

I also began to catch on to the value of competition, and, in retrospect, competitive sports were always in play in my life. At 11 years old, I became interested in the art of coaching. Yes, I could mold a team and create winners, but what would the players walk away with beyond a trophy? Dad’s manner always focused on building better people that then would create a better team. I was going to invest in those theories even though I was just coaching kids. I rode my bike to the ball fields every summer morning to help teach kindergarten kids T-ball. Under the tutelage of the teenage boys who worked for the recreation department, I honed my coaching skills for 5 years until I was old enough to earn a paycheck working for the rec department. Then, as a T-ball and Little League coach, I consistently turned out championship teams with “emotional” players who respected each other and got a lot out of their baseball experience. I still have a giant box of cards and letters from former players who looked fondly on their years playing on my teams. Many of them are from parents who think their child’s time that particular summer shaped their entire personality.

How did I do it? 

Merciless drills? Military attitude? Endless practices?

No.

I simply took all those lessons my dad exemplified—his steady approach, his calm demeanor, his absolute belief in people who were capable of great things—and made sure each player knew he mattered to me and that I saw the light within him. I made it my business to know every player’s name, his interests and fears (knowing shyness is a huge factor in building confidence). In short, I assured my kids (players) that the only thing that could hold them back from a fulfilling life and career was themselves.

And the more I believed in them, the more they believed in themselves.

When I returned home after college, I bumped into many of those boys and girls—now young men and women—and they still called me “Coach.” Every impromptu meeting usually included a “thank you” and an update of how they were doing. They all wanted me to know they had become successful in their own way and hoped I would be proud. I always was.

Applying The Same Tactics

Years passed and I embarked on a successful executive business career. I was especially known for the upward movement of various staff members. They invariably sought and achieved promotions, and often left the company for a higher position when no upward movement was available in-house.

I used the same theories, same belief system, and same calm, solid approach. “Velvet over steel” some called it, but it brought out the best in people. It isn’t a trick, but it does take some practice.

I have five children, and the youngest two are sons. One is approaching 30 and doing well in the business-insurance industry. Football offered him a fine education, and he was a 1,000-yard rusher in both his junior and senior years in high school. The other son is recently out of college, and as I write this, he is packing his luggage for a trip west; a professional rugby team has invited him to work out with its developmental squad for 3 months for what could become a long-term contract.

He was so devoted and mature in his senior year of high-school rugby that, when the coaching staff was forced to leave due to desperate recruiting infractions, the athletic director asked my son to act as player/coach and to finish the season with minimal adult supervision. He then earned a scholarship for his college rugby experience. He played in Italy, England, Wales, and half the United States, even playing a key role in the National Championship his team won in his junior year (2018).

Was either of my boys the most-talented player on the field?

No.

Did either score the most?

Nope.

Was each “absolutely essential” to the team?

No doubt about it. Ask the various coaches or any of the players with whom they competed. Quite simply, the application of these philosophies in several areas can result in similar outcomes.  

Family Man

At age 28, I dated a woman who had four young children. Things had ended badly with the children’s father, and there would be no reconciliation between the couple. He left town to start a new life, and she and the kids moved into her parents’ home. That might sound archaic, but that’s what strong families did. As I came to know the family, I fell in love with all five of them; the youngest was the only boy, who was only 6 weeks old. The challenge for me was significant, but I couldn’t walk away from this family, which was looking more and more like MY family every day.

I told her I didn’t know if I could be very effective as a stepdad, but I didn’t doubt my abilities to be a father. In other words, I was either “all in” or not at all. I had never done anything halfway in my life. She smiled through tears and said clearly the need was there, if I was sure it was manageable. I dove in headfirst and now sit here 32 years later with three beautiful daughters, two handsome sons (my wife and I added one more), and 16 grandchildren (my boys are still unmarried, so there’s likely more ahead). 

Of all the things my wife and I have in common, our Italian heritage is clearly the most advantageous. Each of us is 100-percent Italian and raised with strong family values. The children have benefited most from that since they have been smothered in love and support from uncles, aunts, grandparents, great-grandparents, and never even realized they had come from what others considered “a broken home.” If others think child-rearing takes a village, we swung for the fences and took a continent. There were Nana and Papa and Grandma and uncles and me, and a whole cast of supporting players; collectively, we filled every gap. And the icing on the cake for me was a shiny new son, “fresh off the shelf.”

Nicco

She named him Nicco, and he was as handsome a boy as I had ever seen. His birth father was an African American/Cherokee Indian mix, so Nicco and I were an unlikely-looking pair at the time (1989). I often recall coaches and teachers saying to Nicco, “OK, go stand with your father,” and he would say, “I am,” and they would look at the two of us, smile, and say, “No! Your father!” And then I would have to clarify, “I AM his father!” Then, after some polite laughter, an explanation followed. Back then things weren’t so understood and accepted like in 2021.

So here I was—after years of coaching other kids, listening to other kids, directing other kids—with four children of my own. They were dying for attention, having endured an absentee father and been raised in a house full of women (i.e., great-grandma, grandma, mom, etc.).

I told my new wife I couldn’t raise “girly girls,” and at the moment that was exactly what they were. How could I break this trend? You guessed it. Sports, the great American remedy for anything that ails you! It started with endless games of backyard kickball (“Come on, swing that leg!”) and really hit its stride when I bought city pool passes at the beginning of summer. By September, I had them all diving off the high board and swimming confidently to the side. When they finally invited their great-grandmother to the pool for an afternoon picnic, her teeth almost fell out when she saw my girls climb the ladder and dive gracefully into the water. I watched as she made the sign of the cross twice, but felt such pride when I saw her grinning ear to ear.

While I was formatting my little tomboys, Nicco was growing up fast. He and I were inseparable. He was lean and strong and climbed all over me wherever we went. I could sling him up on my shoulder, and he would cling to me like Velcro, adjust his grip, and ride on me with ease. I loved everything there was about having a son, and he absorbed all I had to offer by being completely agreeable, loyal, and willing. When we went to the playground, it was noticeable how much natural strength and athletic ability he had. By the age of 3, he was knocking the backyard ball off the tee so consistently well that I knew his future would be fulfilled in any sport he chose. In the following years, Nicco grew into the most gifted athlete I had ever known. No matter what he picked up—ball or club—he could immediately perform at a high level. After college he initially enlisted in the police academy where he broke every record during the fitness qualifications.

Ace In The Hole

So, when Nicco was 4, I signed him up for organized T-ball by lying to the rec department that he was 5. In T-ball, players often bat every inning, since making an out is a rare event. Whenever Nicco was up, he hit a home run.  Every time. He hit that bouncy rubber ball on a searing line drive that would catch the seam of the infield and bounce high into the outfield. All 10 defensive players took off after the ball, and he would soar around the bases, grinning ear to ear. When he got to the bench, he slapped high-fives with every teammate. I explained to Nicco that the best players included every teammate in their success. I never let him wear “gear” either. No headbands, wristbands, hitting gloves, designer cleats, etc. He was barebones simple and clean. Years later, in high school, when he scored several touchdowns a game, his scoring ritual was to hand the ball to the referee. No spiking, no grandstanding, no acting like finding the end zone was a miracle. No. Instead, the look was, “This is the end zone and I just scored. I’m comfortable in this place and used to being here.” That’s the stuff leaders and pros are remembered for. So, I had a kid with endless ability and natural humility, and he had a father who was completely aware of his son’s success.

We did homework together. We watched Saturday-morning cartoons. When it came to cookouts—he could handle the grill by age 7. The entire family went to church each week and prayed together at night, recognizing there are powers much greater than ourselves. When I drove the family to various places, Nicco stood in the back seat and gripped the headrest, talking endlessly. “Did you see that red car? Look at that giant flag. Is it almost Saturday?”

Every rec league sport he played—basketball, flag football, T-ball—found me as part of the coaching staff. Even if I hadn’t signed up, head coaches asked me to stay involved. We always had successful teams when I employed my old methods. And Nicco was my ace in the hole: the clean-up batter, the running back, the point guard. 

Exuding Confidence

As time passed and his popularity grew at school (unanimously voted Homecoming king in his senior year), he became more aware that I was the Jiminy Cricket to his Pinocchio, his personal Mr. Miyagi from The Karate Kid. But he knew it was out of love that all that resourceful guidance came. I was not a “stage door dad.” I just knew if my kid thrived at a young age, winning would become a habit that he would naturally seek. He would find a way to win. He would derive success, even when it appeared he had failed. He would learn the lesson from the failure and celebrate the new awakening. By my being involved (that I believe all dads should be), every time he looked for me he built confidence, and one day when I stepped away, he had the habit down to an art. Don’t you agree if more dads followed a similar line of love and support the boys of this country would become better men?

Athletics was merely a tool. My son—despite his continued athletic prowess—finished his second year of college football and told me he had had enough. He wanted to finish school, but he was tired of being tackled, battered, and injured. He came home to finish his education, and he was more than surprised when I respected his choice without question. He realized it had never been about the sports. He knew now I just wanted him to be happy.

In his adult life, he consistently performs well at work. In social settings, he is quiet and reserved, but his opinion is sought and respected. His nieces and nephews compete for his affection and attention. When he walks down the street, those who meet him smile and say, “Hello.” He walks like a winner. And, yes, friends, he was “bent” that way. “As the tree is bent, so shall it grow.”

Sam

And 8 years after Nicco, Sam arrived. The 28-year-old young man that Nicco was raised by was now a 36-year-old man … and a bit tired. Sam was a different kid than Nicco. Sam didn’t have the natural athletic prowess his heroic brother did, but he was wise beyond his years. He was frightfully bright even as an infant, and often I would catch him staring at me with a sly smile on his face. His absolute persistence in learning and succeeding at the game of rugby was much more independent, so I took a supportive role rather than lead. I didn’t know the game, but found the people teaching him were deeply invested, and in my “takes-a-village” approach, I kept in close contact with two of these young men. In fact, the night before Sam left for college, he was a groomsman in his head coach’s wedding; they had grown that close. It was a testament to his maturity and growth.  Again, as I mentioned earlier, he is currently competing for a spot on a professional rugby team. Knowing Sam, he’ll take that in stride, too, like the crumpled-up certificates of achievement I used to find in his bookbag. He is simply without ego. But practice after practice, game after game, workout after workout, I was there. When he looked up, it was me holding an umbrella on the sidelines, helping him find a gym that offered the machines and instruction he wanted, inviting scouts to his high-school games and making sure they were welcomed. He could count on Dad.  Again, confidence was the by-product and one day, when he needed support no more, I quietly stepped away, and he ran with it—all the way to a professional sports offer.

A Father’s Creed

So, I watch the news and read the papers and wonder what has gone wrong with so many young men, and I think what I described above makes it clear. Young men need fathers. I valued everything my dad did, and I looked to learn what made him find value in the things and people he admired. My creed is simple. Maybe you can share it with someone who needs to hear it, but don’t you agree the world would be a better place if we all followed this pledge or something similar? And though I’ve focused more on boys than girls, my testimony can apply to all children. I’ve seen it work just as well for my beautiful daughters.

I am your father and brought you into this world and, therefore, promise to take care of you. 

I will protect you from all things and will do the same for your mother, who carried and delivered you and will care for you as well.

You have the right, as does she, to expect me to protect you, to watch over you, and to provide for you. And I promise you’ll never have to search for these things because you will have the comfort of knowing that, since I’m responsible for you, I will ALWAYS take care of you. 

That’s what men were made to do. 

I will favor you over others, and I have the right to do this, so don’t expect me to be politically correct when it comes to you because I am biased, and I’ll fight for you over others, no matter the issue. You are my child and my responsibility, and you have the right to expect my unabashed support. 

If I find error in your ways, I will work with you and not run from it, nor will I be embarrassed by it. Mistakes are part of life and how we learn; it’s my job to turn your mistakes into lessons. I will rely on your growing maturity in approaching these situations. 

I am your father and you will always know you have someone who will fight for you, be strong for you, and protect you. The day you were created moved my personal priorities to the back burner. 

I have but one request. Live a wonderful life. That’s why you were made, and I live to give you every opportunity. I am your father and it is my job to serve my family and be the rock you all can count on—you give my life a purpose.

Ron Ciancutti worked in the parks and recreation industry since he was 16 years old, covering everything from maintenance, operations, engineering, surveying, park management, design, planning, recreation, and finance. He is now retired. He holds a B.S. in Business from Bowling Green State University and an M.B.A. from Baldwin Wallace University. He is not on Facebook, but he can be reached at ron@northstarpubs.com.