LOS ANGELES — The rigors of a nine-year N.F.L. career spent in the trenches had taught Stafford Mays that football was no place for the malleable body of a young boy. So his son would have to be content with terrorizing other kids on the soccer field, barreling through them on the basketball court and playing the role of a menace when he stepped into the batter’s box.
“You can’t throw the ball down the middle on him without getting pounded or something bad happening,” U.S.C. Coach Pete Carroll said of the all-American safety Taylor Mays.
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In the Rose Bowl, Taylor Mays, right, flattened Penn State’s Jordan Norwood and U.S.C.’s Kevin Thomas, leaving them to wobble off the field.
But what the young Taylor Mays really longed for was a place where his aggression could be unconstrained, a stage where he could mimic the enthusiasm and the passion he witnessed on autumn Saturdays in Seattle, where he stuck by his father’s side at Husky Stadium to watch the University of Washington play football.
Finally, when Mays was 12, that day arrived.
His father, after years of fudging and making excuses, had relented and signed him up to play for the Ballard Knights. When uniforms were handed out, Mays studied his. He got home, went to his room and put on the shoulder pads, then the black No. 24 jersey, the silver pants and plain silver helmet, making sure everything fit.
Stafford watched his son and began to wonder what he was unleashing. Soon enough, he knew. Stafford told him to get started on his school work. When he returned, Taylor was sitting at his desk diligently tackling his homework — with his helmet on.
“I told him just don’t sleep in the helmet, please,” Stafford said with a laugh.
Mays has grown since then, into a 6-foot-3, 230-pound all-American safety for the University of Southern California. He no longer wears a helmet when he does his homework, but his thirst for the game has not changed.
A senior, Mays is now mentioned among Ronnie Lott, Dennis Smith and Troy Polamalu — former U.S.C. safeties who went on to star in the N.F.L. He is the cornerstone of a Trojans defense that is being retooled after eight defensive starters were drafted.
A sprinter in a linebacker’s body, Mays, 21, can cover sideline to sideline, and his ability to hit can have devastating consequences. In the Rose Bowl, with one shoulder-leveling blow, he flattened Penn State receiver Jordan Norwood and U.S.C. cornerback Kevin Thomas, leaving them to wobble off the field.
“You can’t throw the ball down the middle on him without getting pounded or something bad happening,” U.S.C. Coach Pete Carroll said. “It gives our football team so much when your deep safety is able to take away big aspects of what offenses can do to you.”
The Rose Bowl seemed the perfect exit for Mays, much as it was for quarterback Mark Sanchez. Though he had leaned toward leaving, he spoke with Lott, Polamalu and other former Trojans. Less than two weeks later, he stunned and delighted U.S.C. fans by announcing he would return.
Most decisions Mays makes each day require little rumination. They are often based on the answer to a single question: will it make me a better player?
“I’m just trying to do everything I can right,” he said. “Don’t take any shortcuts. Don’t leave anything undone.”
When his high school classmates were going out all night after their graduation ceremony, Mays said he stayed home. He wanted to be fresh for a workout the next morning. He is diligent about what he eats. He is living alone this year because it is less complicated than having a roommate. And his social calendar is more spartan than Trojan.
“He’s the kind of kid who thinks if he eats a French fry, he’s going to miss a tackle,” his father said.
As Mays sat outside the athletic department recently, his sober expression was broken only by intermittent interruptions of coeds who paraded past, waving to him or calling him by name. One stopped to let him know about a summer spent in Spain and surfing, but they all drew a charming smile.
The notion that hard work has its rewards is reinforced on campus, but Mays gleaned it long ago at home.
Stafford Mays spent his final two seasons as a defensive lineman with the Minnesota Vikings, who had an energetic young secondary coach named Pete Carroll. He went to work as a salesman at Microsoft, then into human resources and diversity, where he is now an executive. His wife, Laurie, his college sweetheart, is an executive vice president for cosmetics at Nordstrom.
“The expectations from my parents were always going to be high,” Mays said. “It just happens to be in a sport.”
His father’s football career notwithstanding, Mays’s pursuit of one does not seem preordained. Stafford and Laurie have exposed Taylor and his brother, Parker, a high school sophomore, to experiences as diverse as they are: Stafford is African-American and was raised Baptist; Laurie is a white Jew.
Taylor had a bar mitzvah at 13 and a year later enrolled at an all-boys Catholic high school. The year the boys spent studying the Torah and working with a rabbi is not something Laurie had planned. As a young professional and a new mother, she did not view synagogue dues as a priority.
“When Taylor turned 5, my parents said, ‘O.K., time to join a temple,’ ” she said. “It was really for my mom and dad, and it turned out to be a special thing. My dad wasn’t into sports, so it was something they could share.”
With so many influences, Stafford and Laurie said their son never struggled with questions of identity. Taylor said he was able to keep a foot in different cultures. He does not observe the High Holy Days because they interfere with football, and when he is asked what part of Judaism resonates with him, he says he is not sure.
There is, however, an unmistakable trait that has been passed on — guilt. When the decision came whether to leave U.S.C. early, the thought that he was leaving something unfinished nagged at him.
“Sometimes when I don’t go to class, I have this feeling like I’m supposed to be somewhere right now, and I’m going to get a phone call from one of my coaches or one of my teachers,” said Mays, who is on track to graduate this academic year. “I had that same feeling — if I don’t go back to school, I’ll feel like there’s some place I’m supposed to be, but I’m not there.”
It is a decision, like the one his father made for him all those years ago, that he expects to be worth the wait.
