The encapsulated story of Eldrick “Tiger” Woods’ childhood has become the stuff of folklore; it’s the prevailing guideline for ostensibly screwing up your kids before they even have a chance.

His father, Earl, wrote that book to a mind-numbing T. It’s the way he was brought up that allowed us to see through the haze of Tiger’s indiscretions; to appreciate him for what he was on the course, and, if not dismiss, at least diminish his off-course behavior.

He was a product of his upbringing, as simplified and cliche as that may be.

For so long, when Tiger spoke of his children, or his wife, it was so drenched in PR-spin it made you cringe. We were sure he loved his kids, but we didn’t understand why it couldn’t be more natural. Last week, when he let Time magazine into his life, Eldrick was the most vulnerable he’s ever been with the public. His answers veered away from typical Tiger-speak, giving more of himself than we’ve ever had:

She’s one of my best friends. We’re able to pick up the phone, and we talk to each other all the time. We both know that the most important things in our lives are our kids. I wish I would have known that back then.

He talked about his ex-wife, his kids, and about the drive he had growing up — whether it was his, his father’s, or a combination of both. He spoke of giving it all up for his children; and, for once, it appeared to come from him. When Tiger drops his persona and allows Eldrick to chime in on the subject, it feels as if it’s coming directly from the heart, which is the one piece of Tiger we were never let into.

In the days leading up to his 40th birthday, we all know that Tiger — intimidating, dominating — is gone forever. It’s been that way for a long time. At his peak, once he had you down, you would never get up. And that’s what drew us in. That’s what made him Tiger.

The moment the rest of the tour saw a crack — blowing a third-round lead in the 2009 PGA Championship, the first time he’d ever done so at a major— the aura of Tiger was gone. As much as fans clamor for parity, what we really desire is dominance. And for a while, he gave us that in the perfect package.

When Tiger burst onto the national scene in 1997, winning the Masters by 12 strokes, he wasn’t just breaking a scoring record; he was breaking barriers. He was an African-American/Asian in a decidedly Caucasian sport; boastful in a world of respect; and above all, change in a world of stagnancy.

His arrival meant golf as we knew it was over; because what he represented wasn’t just a changing of the guard, it was a changing of how we viewed an entire subculture. The sport would no longer be white suburbia. Tiger wasn’t just a threat to the lineage of elegant, upper-class country club privilege; he was the bulldozer that would destroy it.

During his run from 1997-2009, before injuries and infidelity derailed it all, Tiger Woods was Wayne Gretzky, Michael Jordan and Muhammad Ali for a new generation. In a sport that thrives on individualistic representations, Tiger was all that we could have asked for.

He was cool, new, and most importantly, untouchable.

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