Dad, where are we going?
"Luke, we're off to Coach Wooden's mansion on Margate in Encino. He's going to show you how to put your socks and shoes on."
Huh?
Next thing I knew, me and my brothers – Adam, Nate and Chris -- would pile into my dad's car and he would make the two-plus hour drive from San Diego to visit Coach Wooden.
We would sit on the couch and Coach Wooden would explain the importance of putting our socks on properly to avoid getting blisters. Then, we had to make sure we tied our shoe laces so they didn't come undone during the practices or games.
As we were doing this, my dad was beaming from the corner of the room. Big Bill, who was a free spirit at UCLA and who learned some of Coach Wooden's lessons the hard way, was now his biggest advocate.
At first, we thought it was a joke but there we all were, sitting on the couch in Coach's condominium removing our socks and putting them back on. Tying our shoes and then meticulously untying the laces and doing it again and again.
The lessons of Coach Wooden didn't stop there. My dad would write many of Coach Wooden's maxims on my school lunch bag.
"Failing to prepare is preparing to fail."
"Never mistake activity for achievement."
"It isn't what you do, but how you do it."
"Things turn out best for the people who make the best of the way things turn out."
Kids would ask: "Hey, Luke: What did your dad write on your lunch bag today?" which was always followed by laughs.
I was embarrassed.
Whenever I would get disciplined by my dad, I remember him quoting Wooden: "The worst you can do for the ones you love the most, is what they could and should do for themselves."
I remember getting frustrated and saying, "When I get older, I'm going to Notre Dame, dad."
I was at home when I heard the sad news about Coach Wooden's passing Friday night. I was blown away by the international reaction to his death. It speaks to his popularity and impact on the game. He's an icon, someone who I grew up knowing as Coach Wooden and thought nothing of it until I got older and realized that he was Coach Wooden.
I was in college when I started to appreciate his wisdom and teachings. I also started to understand what a big impact he has had on my dad's life. My dad lives by Coach Wooden's maxims and his Pyramid of Success. It's helped shaped him and it's a code he lives by every day.
When I was in high school, I had a great coach in Jim Tomey who taught me a lot about the game. When it came time do start thinking about college, there was an expectation that I would attend UCLA because my last name was Walton.
When I focused on the University of Arizona and met Coach Lute Olson, I thought he was the 21st Century version of Coach Wooden. It was all so impressive -- his winning philosophy on and off the court not to mention the Wildcats style of play, the focus on ball movement, his non demonstrative demeanor on the sideline.
It was my decision to attend the University of Arizona, like it was my dad's to attend UCLA.
Long after my dad retired from the NBA, I saw the special relationship he shares with his former coaches--from his high school coach, Rocky Graciano, to Coach Wooden, Jack Ramsay, K.C. Jones – there are many.
Evan at 30 years old, Coach Olson remains a big influence on my life. I see first hand what a privilege it is to play for another great teacher in Coach Phil Jackson and the opportunity to play in the shadows of Laker greats – Jerry West, Kareem Abdul-Jabbar, Magic Johnson, Jamaal Wilkes, James Worthy – all regulars at Staples Center.
Like my dad, I'm following the same path of staying connected with the influential coaches in my life – Tomey, Olson, Jackson -- men I will continue to learn from the rest of my life.
One of my dad's biggest regrets in life is not calling a game with the legendary Lakers announcer, Chick Hearn. I wish Chick had called one of my Laker games but I was drafted a year after his death. He's someone who would have been great to know and talk Lakers history.
While I never played for him, I saw first hand what a special person Coach Wooden is. I'm reminded of that every time I tie my shoe.
