A life is not important except in the impact it has on other lives.
JACKIE ROBINSON
In 2001, my dad had surgery to put stents in his coronary arteries. His doctor told him that if he gave up smoking, there was no doubt he’d live until he was ninety. I bought him patches and electronic cigarettes to help him quit, and he did give it up—for about a month. For my dad, it was more about having something in his hand than the actual smoking. Even so, he just couldn’t stop.
He was still smoking late in 2008 when his breathing got so bad and his blood so poisoned with carbon monoxide that he had to go to the hospital. He was diagnosed with chronic obstructive pulmonary disease. There was no cure. His health was never good after that. In April 2011, I told him I wanted him to come to my house for Mother’s Day. He said, “Son, I’m not going to be here for Mother’s Day.”
Two days before Mother’s Day, on May 6, 2011, my father fell down at home and suffered a contusion to the head. He died later that day. Eugene Brown was seventy-five years old. His funeral procession looked like one for a head of state—it included eight presidential-sized limousines, as well as other limos. It was one of the biggest processions the local funeral home had ever handled. That was my dad. He drew people from all walks of life. At my mom’s house after the funeral, it was amazing to see so many grown men, both young and old, break down crying and say how much my dad helped them and how much they’d miss him.
We included a plaque in my dad’s casket that read, simply, “Patriarch.” That was his role in our large, close family and was how we all planned to remember him. In his closet, we’d found a neatly folded T-shirt. It had my picture on it and the words “1987 Heisman Trophy Winner.” He’d saved it for all those years. I had them put it on him to wear under his burial clothes.
It hurt then to lose my dad and still does. The pain was fresher then but is deeper now. I miss him and can’t believe he’s gone. But I’m so glad that we repaired our relationship and got to enjoy each other the last nineteen years of his life.
I’m also so grateful for the Lord’s intervention and the faithful efforts of a ninety-year-old woman in our church. About a year and a half before my dad’s death, a woman we called “Mother Page” told my mom that the Lord had laid it on her heart to talk to my father. When Mama mentioned this to me and my siblings, we said, “Oh, no, Mama, don’t subject Mother Page to that.”
Mama did try to thank Mother Page for her interest while gently discouraging her. Mother Page wasn’t going to be put off, however. “You must have misunderstood what I said,” she told Mama. “The Lord said for me to talk to your husband.” This time, Mama went home and told my dad about it. “Well,” he said, “give her my number.”
To the rest of the family’s amazement, Mother Page started praying over the phone with my father two times a day. In the last couple months of his life, my mom was surprised several times to walk into a room and see my father on his knees, praying. The night before he died, he told my mom he was “all right with God.” If that’s not a blessing, I don’t know what is.
On a morning six months after my dad passed, I was driving my kids to school when my phone rang. “Where are you?” Sherice asked.
“What do you mean, where am I?” I said. “I’m dropping off the kids.”
“Are you coming right back?”
“Sure,” I said. “I’ve still got my pajamas on. Where do you think I’m going?”
When I pulled up to my house, Sherice met me at the door. Oh, Lord, I thought. My first concern was Mama, but family would have called me fifteen times by now if something had happened to her.
Sherice took me upstairs and broke the news: “Chester passed away.” He’d suffered a massive heart attack.
I couldn’t believe it. I’d just talked to Chester two days before. He was planning to visit us the next week. He was only forty-two years old, with a wife and two daughters at home. How could this have happened?
I was really broken. I wanted to tear up the house. My buddy was suddenly gone and I didn’t know how to handle it. It just didn’t seem real.
My time with Chester was the same as the second good phase of my relationship with my dad: nineteen years. It’s amazing that anyone can love a big, ornery defensive tackle, but I did. I can’t get those years and great memories back, but I can be thankful for them and look forward to the day we meet again on the other side of this life.
After going through such painful losses, I was very aware that no one can guarantee how long we and the people we care about will be on this earth. But it was reinforced even more in May 2012 when I got a call telling me that Junior Seau had taken his own life. Again, I was shocked. I’d seen Junior at my golf tournament only two days earlier and watched him laugh and joke with his golf partners.
It was a contrast, actually, from when I’d seen Junior in March while playing in his golf tournament. I noticed then that he drank throughout the day. At the reception at the end of that tournament, he kept slurring his words. It was bad enough that I couldn’t watch; I walked out of the room. I was concerned. Later, I hatched a plan with Marcus Allen to sit down with Junior at my tournament, talk to him about his drinking, and see if we could help. But then Marcus had a conflict and couldn’t make my tournament. We decided to wait until Marcus’s tournament that was only three weeks later.
Now it was too late. My emotions were jumbled. I was sad to have lost another friend, angry that Junior had done this to his family and friends, and upset that I’d missed my chance to speak to him. Would it have made any difference? I don’t know. We’ve all since learned that Junior’s problems were more complex than I’d realized, that he was in debt and apparently suffered from a form of brain damage, a far too common condition among professional football players. I believe it’s often the combination of personal struggles and brain issues that are pushing football players to take their own lives. Obviously, we need more study on this. But when I got the news about Junior, I wasn’t thinking about any of that. I just couldn’t believe that another great NFL player and friend was gone.
Life is so brief, and what we do while we’re alive is often quickly forgotten. In 2003, Ukranian swimmer Andriy Serdinov achieved his lifelong goal by setting the world record in the 100-meter butterfly. Naturally, he was overjoyed—he celebrated by throwing his hands into the air. Five minutes later, he was in the middle of his first interview as the record holder when an eighteen-year-old American named Michael Phelps swam even faster, setting a new world mark for the event. Serdinov never held a world record again.
That’s how life is. We sacrifice and strive to reach the pinnacle of our profession, and if we’re fortunate, it garners us rewards such as respect, fame, and financial prosperity. Yet it’s all temporary. None of it truly lasts.
I’m proud of my football achievements in college and in the NFL. It’s an honor to be listed among the great players who have won the Heisman Trophy. It’s rewarding to know that when I retired from the NFL, I was second in total receiving yards, third in career catches, tied for third in touchdown catches, and fifth in all-purpose yards. Of course I’m proud of setting NFL records such as consecutive games started by a wide receiver (176), consecutive games with more than one reception (143), and consecutive seasons with at least seventy-five receptions (10).
But when I look back on my life at the end of my days, will any of that truly matter?
At this writing, I’ve been eligible four times for induction into the NFL Hall of Fame. I’ve been a finalist a couple of times, but so far the selection committee hasn’t recorded the votes to make it happen. Would I like to be in the Hall of Fame? Absolutely. I wouldn’t be honest if I said anything else. The Hall would be the final stamp on my career, a chance to see my name among the greatest in the history of the game. Who wouldn’t cherish an achievement like that?
Yet I understand that the purpose of my life isn’t about getting into the NFL Hall of Fame. The reason I’m on this earth is to serve God; to be the best husband, father, son, brother, and friend I can be; and to lead people to Christ. These are the things that matter. These are the things that last.
When I was a boy, I was impressed by the incredible story of Jackie Robinson. When Branch Rickey, general manager of the Brooklyn Dodgers, was looking for a man to break baseball’s color barrier, he settled on Robinson. “Mr. Rickey,” Jackie said at their famous meeting in 1945, “do you want a ballplayer who is afraid to fight back?” No, Rickey responded, “I want a ballplayer with guts enough not to fight back.”1 Jackie was an aggressive guy, but when he started playing with the Dodgers in 1947, he took all the insults and hate without retaliating. He forced people to respect him as a great player and as a man.
I was particularly blown away when I read about the life and achievements of Martin Luther King Jr. The risks he took and the faith and fortitude he showed in thrusting civil rights into the national consciousness not only were inspiring but changed history. Through his speeches, his peace marches, and so much more, he left a legacy that still has a powerful impact on us today.
These men put their very lives on the line to make a difference. They understood what will last. When talking about how he wanted to be remembered, Pastor King said, “I’d like somebody to mention that day that Martin Luther King Jr. tried to give his life serving others. . . . If you want to say that I was a drum major, say that I was a drum major for justice. Say that I was a drum major for peace. I was a drum major for righteousness. And all of the other shallow things will not matter.”2
The leader of my home church in Dallas, Pastor Whitley, is another man who is leaving an important legacy. He’s encouraging people to live a godly life, never backing away from the truth of the Bible. I wonder how many men, women, and children have done the right thing over the years because of his preaching and example.
God doesn’t call every man to change nations or lead a congregation, but we all influence the lives we come across for better or worse. It’s critical that we understand what’s important. I’m certainly not in the same category as the men I’ve just mentioned, but I am trying to live in a way that serves others and pleases God.
For the past twenty years, I’ve been involved with the nonprofit Athletes and Entertainers for Kids (AEFK). The annual Celebrity Classic golf tournament I cohost with Kathy Ireland raises funds for 9-1-1 for Kids, an AEFK national outreach program that teaches kids how to properly call 911 in an emergency and also educates youth and their families on how to respond to an emergency or disaster.
I’ve also established Locker 81 Fundraising Solutions, a company that sponsors a program called Smart Giving Cards. When people use a Smart Giving debit card for everyday purchases, it raises money for nonprofits such as the National Council of Youth Sports. We’ve formed the Tim Brown Foundation, which in the past has sponsored a program for latchkey kids in the Dallas area. We hope to get that back up and running soon.
Recently, we also got involved with Five Star Life, a nonprofit organization based in Indiana that builds self-esteem and character in middle school kids. We plan to help establish a Five Star program in Texas.
That’s more than enough to fill my plate, but we’ve also launched a business venture called Smart Living. It promotes health and wellness through enzyme-based products that are 100 percent natural. And I keep in touch with the sports world through my football radio shows on SiriusXM.
As I’ve said, I love kids, so the chance to improve their lives through many of the programs I’m involved in is especially rewarding for me. Of course, the kids closest to my heart are the ones I have the privilege to call my own: Taylor, Timon, Tamar, and Timothy. I include another young woman in that list too. Ratisha is Sherice’s twenty-two-year-old cousin. Her parents were both killed, so we’ve been raising her in our home since she was eleven. Now she’s working and taking some classes in the Dallas area, which is great.
When I look to the future, what do I want for my kids? Obviously I want them to grow as people of character, to prosper, to be great citizens, to give back as much as they can to this world. But more than any of that, I want them to love and serve God. That’s living a life that matters. As Pastor Whitley has said, even if God’s promise of heaven weren’t true, what a great life we live when we serve Him. When I get to the end of my days, if I can see each member of my family honoring God and doing His will, then I’ll know I have a legacy to be proud of.
You might wonder how I want to be remembered. Yes, as a player who gave his all on the football field. Certainly as someone who loved and led his family. Even more than that, though, I’d like to be remembered as a guy who was faithful to God and his beliefs, who was consistent in the way he lived and served others. These are the things that make a man.
When I reach the end of my life, I hope to be able to say the same words that the apostle Paul once wrote to my namesake, Timothy:
I have fought the good fight, I have finished the race, I have kept the faith. Now there is in store for me the crown of righteousness, which the Lord, the righteous Judge, will award to me on that day—and not only to me, but also to all who have longed for his appearing. (2 Tim. 4:7–8)