A Father First: How My Life Became Bigger Than Basketball (38 page)

The Heat organization and my brand partners always were such a part of my life, sticking by me and letting me know they had my back. I wanted to honor that and the fact that they cared about my input and collaboration, treating me as far more than just another athlete promoting products. So it came naturally to me to treat them like family and connect them to each other.

When we began, most of the marketing executives said this was unheard-of. For me it made a great deal of sense. I wasn’t just taking their check. Besides that, they were counting on me and my name. Over time, the Brand Wade retreats would become a highlight of my off-the-court career; I began to thrive wearing my business/creative hat.

So all of that, in terms of basketball and career in general, continued to be on the up-and-up in a big way. For a minute, during all the celebrations and the thrilling whirlwind that came after the championship, the good times extended to my home life. Zaire at four and a half had a chance to take in the excitement with me. And Siohvaughn, seemingly in a good space now that we’d moved into our dream home, also joined in to savor the festivities and the fruits of my labors.

But that minute passed. Regaining the trust that had been lost for me the year before hadn’t been easy. Then summer came and I was off to Japan for the World Games with Team USA. Whenever I called to check in with Siohvaughn, our conversations went instantly from all business to shouting matches and me being berated for everything and anything. After one too many of these talks, I realized we’d probably come to the point of no return. In my mind, nothing was working and maybe it never would. That left me to feel we could go one of two ways—either call it quits now or try to reclaim what it was we shared when Zaire was born and have another child. He was almost five years old and a brother or sister would make his life more meaningful and joyful. The one thing that Siohvaughn and I seemed to do well together as husband and wife was give love to our child—so maybe investing ourselves in that higher purpose would help us heal.

When Siohvaughn arrived in Japan to join me there, at first, she said, “Well, I don’t know if we should do that. I don’t want to be a single mom with two kids.”

The more we talked about it, however, the more we saw the possibility of working on our marriage as part of the decision to have another child. That was to take the pressure off the idea that having a baby could fix us. We would fix us and be worthy of the son we already had and the child we hoped would be on the way.

Caught up in the romance of trying again, we conceived right away, as we learned back in Miami just as the season was getting under way. But we were already falling back into the same patterns that had been problematic before. Whatever the idea of working on our marriage and our communication had meant in theory, it didn’t translate to reality. The thought nagged at me that we were more roommates than anything else. And every night when we went to bed, I became more and more aware of the gulf between us.

Literally.

In those days, I had this massive bed that had been custom made. In a normal-size bedroom it would have taken up the whole space. For me, a little under six and a half feet tall, this was designed as the height of cool and comfort. The bed was so big, though, that when she and I were both in it, the space dramatized how far apart we were. We had reached a time in our relationship that the distance was mutual—and that we wanted Zaire in the bed, in between us, as if to fill that gulf.

At the same time that I saw we weren’t getting better, any thought of breaking up was out of the question now that we had committed to having another child. The responsibility was on me, I thought. As in the past, I saw our problems as my failure to make things better—that I wasn’t trying hard enough.

By September, we were either arguing or I was being given the silent treatment. When I got a call from a friend who was in town briefly and wanted me to come over, hang out, and have a bite with him, I said yes. A chance to hang out and not be in the house for a few hours getting either ignored or yelled at? I was there!

When I came back later that night, our bedroom door was locked and, oh yeah, I got the message. Rather than have an argument and upset Zaire, I made sure that my bag had what I needed for the trip to Los Angeles the next day for my T-Mobile commercial shoot, and I went to sleep in the guestroom.

The next morning all hell broke loose, with Siohvaughn asking what girl I’d gone to see the night before. No matter how honestly I tried to offer explanations and tell her she could check out my story, the more furious she became, fussing and yelling at me, until I was so freaked out by her level of anger that I couldn’t wait to leave. When my cousin Wug came to pick me up to go to the airport, she switched into silent mode, not talking to me or looking at me. Needing to get out of the house without a confrontation, I left Wug in the other room and, walking on eggshells, went to grab my bag to leave. Siohvaughn exploded again, accusing me once more of being out with another woman. All I wanted to do was get out of the house. But before I could leave, she went even more ballistic, as she leapt across the room lunging and swinging her fists at me.

I’m telling her to stop while dodging blows, covering up my face, as she goes for what’s some kind of uppercut, misses, and hits her own face.

Next thing I know, she’s saying that I hit her when, in fact, I hadn’t touched her and never in a million years would I have hit her.

All of sudden, the stuff that I’d been in denial about became very real. How was I going to fix this shit?

Wug and I headed to the airport as I tried to chill for a minute, glad to be out of the tension. My cell rang and I picked up to hear Lisa Joseph with one of her usual “we need to talk” greetings, which signified she had something of concern to discuss.

Lisa dove right in. “I got a call from Siohvaughn and she said that you hit her and she has pictures. I hate to even bring it up, but what’s this about?”

“What?” About to laugh, I told her what really happened. The scary part was how convincing the story must have sounded to Lisa. But there was more. Lisa then informed me that Von was threatening to send photos to Pat Riley to show him who I really was.

Again, I could have laughed but this was too painful.

At the airport where Wug and I were met by Lisa and Tragil, the three of them waited until we were on board the charter flight and then they expressed their serious concern. Of course, I was worried but I had seen Siohvaughn through a depression before and this reminded me of that.

After returning to Miami following the commercial shoot, my thinking was more along the lines of just weathering a bad storm, much like a bad season. Certainly as the pregnancy was confirmed and we got through the first trimester, I could see that the hormonal changes were intensifying Siohvaughn’s anger issues. My guard was up, however.

What should have been amazing news for us to share, that we were going to have another baby, seemed overshadowed by how distant we were. The good memories we both had of our early days, when we got through arguments by laughing them off, were being wiped away.

Two overriding thoughts kept me from seeking legal advice about steps to officially end the marriage. First, there was my desire to be a family man and I had my sense of duty to set an example. That was big, right there in my hardwiring. Along with that was worrying how the perception would be, what the public and others would think and say—
Oh yeah, he got to the NBA and he decided to leave his high school sweetheart, just the typical pro athlete thing.
The story was more complicated, needless to say. But still.

Second, and more important, was concern for Zaire and the baby we were expecting. Even at five years old, Zaire made comments that showed he was afraid of divorce. However he came to those feelings, I refused to do anything to make him fearful. And I was the one who had pushed for a second child. My old refrain held on: I’ma find a way.

LIKE I SAID, WHAT GOES UP MUST COME DOWN. IF THE DETERIORATION of my marriage wasn’t bad enough, just after the all-star break I dislocated my shoulder. Not just any dislocation but one of medical history’s worst sports-related shoulder dislocations. With the constant threat of injuries that can be season-ending or even career-ending, I knew the range of choices. The options were (1) contemplate leaving the season for surgery or (2) do the rehab route, with the hope of playing again in time for the postseason while ultimately having surgery in the off-season. Going with the latter option, I missed a lot of games but managed to come back and contribute, helping to improve the Heat’s record for the season.

We appeared to be poised for a comeback and, in defiance of predictions, got into the playoffs. But, lacking the chemistry of the previous season, we were swept in the first round by the Chicago Bulls. After an epic vault to the top of the Himalayas, this drop was epic, too. In the history of the Heat, we had never been swept 4–0 in the playoffs. Not since 1957 had a defending champion fallen that low the very next year.

Like L.O. said, highs and lows.

The new lessons from this season were not to be ignored. The biggest lesson was that each year is its own. Just because the right ingredients worked last year, they won’t necessarily the next. Now I knew better, with my injuries, that anything can be here today and gone tomorrow—a rite of passage and a leap forward in my thinking, unlike my younger days of feeling immortal. Being only human—and realizing it—is always a lesson worth relearning. In turn, I began to reevaluate everything, with a lot of soul-searching about career and business and what I wanted out of life.

As much as getting swept in the first round is not a feeling I ever wanted to experience again, I never thought my days in the sun on the court were over. No one in my circle would have suggested that the various injuries I’d sustained up until now were going to derail my career forever. On the other hand, none of the surgeons who examined the shoulder (and the knee that had never healed) would come out and say they could make me like new again. The risks were high. I knew the stories of young phenoms having to retire following multiple surgeries after only a few years playing at the top of their game.

That said, after the loss in the playoffs, I went to bed, prayed, slept on it, and woke up in the morning with the decision to have the dual surgeries. Thankfully, I was blessed to have gifted surgeons. Even though Siohvaughn was getting close to her due date, she was very attentive while I was recovering from surgery, cooking for me in the days that followed, and standing by to make sure I was well fed. With faith, I had to believe that if I worked hard, as always, I could be ready for the next season without missing a step.

Once I came through surgery on both the shoulder and the knee, the reality of needing time for extensive rehab hit me. But I knew that for the long term the surgery had been the right thing to do and I wasn’t worried. Part of this thinking, in that period, had to do with a new bright light that was shining in my world, too—young Master Zion Malachi Aramis Wade. The one and only. He burst onto the scene at 8:45
P
.
M
. on May 29, 2007, in Chicago, where Siohvaughn and I had decided to be for the delivery so we could be closer to our families in welcoming Zion into the world.

Nobody could take away the joy of now having not one but two sons to call me Daddy. Added to that feeling of fulfillment was how excited Zaire was to have a baby brother. He wanted to know everything—how soon before Zion could talk, walk, and play with him? That lifted my heart so much because all I really wanted was for us all to be happy.

However, wishing and wanting do not always find their match in reality. When Siohvaughn first went to the hospital, accompanied by our friend Andrea, godmother to both our boys, I picked up the phone to hear my wife say not to rush—that she’d call me when the doctor said she was getting close. After I did get there and had a chance to meet our brand-new baby boy and fall in love with him, as the hour was getting late and everyone else was leaving, my wife said, “You don’t have to stay the night.”

Did she mean that because I shouldn’t feel obligated or because I was still on the mend from my surgeries two weeks earlier and might be uncomfortable? Before I could ask or argue, Siohvaughn said, “It’s fine. You can leave.”

After I did go, in the car ride home I started to remember how different my role had been allowed to be when Zaire was born. With his birth, I’d driven up from Milwaukee after a big game for Marquette and had barely left their side for two days. Why was she pushing me out after Zion’s arrival? The more I thought about it, the more I knew that there was no willing ourselves back to a better place.

What marriage was there to save?

That harsh reality wasn’t going to keep me from being Daddy to our new son. The next morning, I drove to the hospital to pick up Von, Andrea, and baby Zion. He was as perfect as Zaire, just as alert if not more. I strapped him securely into his infant seat in the back and helped the ladies into their seats. Siohvaughn, understandably, was tired.

On the drive home, just as a car in front of me came to a sudden stop, I had to react quickly and come to a sudden stop, too. For a second my heart started pumping to think of the close call that had just occurred with baby Zion only a day old in the backseat. But fortunately I have good reflexes. Or so I thought. Not Siohvaughn. She went haywire, screaming about the sudden stop.

Just wanting her to be quiet, I didn’t yell or say anything other than to please not scream, with our son having to hear that on his first day of life. Calm and cool, I pulled up and parked at our house, went back to pick up Zion, and carefully started inside, where we had done our preparations and had everything ready that a newborn could need. I was no more than ten steps from the car when I turned to see Siohvaughn jump out of the car and then run to the driver’s seat and then speed away.

She didn’t return for a couple of hours. When she did, she was nice and cheerful. Nothing should have shocked me but I was left with emotional whiplash.