As a young boy – like most young boys I suppose – I idolized my father. I remember helping take off his boots when he would come home. My favorite color as a young kid was camouflage. Yes, camouflage. I wanted to go to West Point and become an Armour officer just like my dad.
As a moved into my teenage years – again not unlike many boys I suppose – the image of my father began to falter. We didn’t see eye to eye. I was rebellious. Never in a overtly malicious and malevolent way. I was a typical teenager struggling through self-identification and self-definition. I had lost a healthy respect – and fear – for my father. I saw his weaknesses. I saw his flaws. I was an idealistic youth and as a result judgmental and critical. In reflection – I was probably uncontrollable and so my parents let me sway – seeking for subtle influence – in contrast to strong oversight that might have pushed me to extremes.
At times it was fisticuffs with my father and I recall some full out fights. Now as I reflect back, I think I was fighting with all of my strength – the misguided ego of youth – and my dad was doing just enough to keep himself – and me – from getting seriously hurt.
After graduating high school I moved away. I went to college in Hawaii – followed by two years living in Europe. I returned to college in Utah – only to be followed 6 month later by 6 months in the Middle East and two months wandering Eastern Europe. I returned to school in Utah, worked in San Francisco eventually returned to the Washington, D.C. area in the fall of 2001. I had been mostly away – and very removed – for six years by this point.
In June of 2002, I drove with my dad to Wilmington Delaware – where we attended the Single A All Star Game pitting the Carolina League against the California League. Unbeknownst at the time, this trip would mark the first of many to come. Where I would begin to see my dad – really meet my dad – through the eyes of something more than a struggling boy working through adolescence. Later that summer we would travel to Cooperstown, NY for Ozzie Smith’s Hall of Fame Induction Ceremony. We spent the weekend in a baseball town. In the heart of Cooperstown is the Doubleday Cafe – Cooperstown’s version of Cheers where the t-shirts read: “A Drinking Town With a Baseball Problem.” This was my dad’s kinda place. A bar in the middle of a baseball town. This weekend cemented are nearly annual trips to All Star Games, Induction Weekends, and jaunts to Spring Training.
Baseball became our common ground.
I had long wanted to go to a baseball playoff game. In 2010 I found myself in San Francisco for work. I carved out time to go to game 3 of the NLCS – checking the box for this bucket list item – but deeply knowing it wasn’t satisfied. In 2012 I attended games 3, 4, and 5 of the NLDS in Washington, D.C. – planning but unable to take my dad because he was out of town. I had NLCS and World Series tickets had the Nationals progressed and would have most definitely taken my dad – but the opportunity never materialized. A day after game 5 I was back in San Francisco where I got to see game 1 of the 2012 NLCS.
With my father’s death in February of this year, a decade of baseball and bonding drew to an end. Until then I had never looked at these singular events for the collective entity they now represent. A father. A son. After pulling apart over decades, we spent a decade getting back to where we started – a kid helping his father with his boots.
We never made it to the playoffs together something I was always remiss about but especially in the months since his death.
As we moved deeper into October this year I decided I wanted to go to a playoff game with my son. I put in for tickets. I had tickets for NLCS games in Pittsburgh – which never materialized. I had game 7 for the NLCS in St. Louis – which wasn’t needed. I bought tickets for game 6 of the World Series in Detroit – but Detroit didn’t make it past the Red Soxs.
Then late last week, I was able to get tickets to Game 6 of the World Series in Boston. I would take my own 10 yr-old son. The perfect age to see your first World Series with your dad. I booked plane tickets that could be cancelled should the game not materialize. On Sunday we sat in the living room as the Red Soxs won game 4 of the World Series, tying the series at 2 games a piece, and forcing a game 6 of the World Series.
The entire week I felt the weight of emotion. Angst perhaps. Common emotions I’m sure – but strong, deep seeded emotions nevertheless. I reflected heavily on my father. It is the same angst that has kept me away from Arlington Cemetery. I know I need to go back. I know I should want to go back. But I just haven’t been able to bring myself back.
Near the start of the game two men in front of me turned around. One – roughly my age or a bit older – asked if I would take a picture of him and his father. The emotion of his request hit me quickly. It hit me deep in my gut and welled up inside until it pushed tears into my eyes.
Here I am. In the middle of Fenway. 38,447 fans cheering. And I’ve got tears coming down by cheeks.
Throughout the day, many said to my son “you are one lucky boy.” I’m the lucky one. And I pray he will always remember.
Bonding over Baseball
2002 Carolina League – California League All Star Game – Wilmington, DE
2002 Ozzie Smith Hall of Fame Induction Weekend – Cooperstown, NY
2003 MLB All Star Game – Chicago, IL
2004 AA Eastern League All Star Game – Bowie, MD
2005 MLB All Star Game – Detroit, MI
2006 MLB All Star Festivities – Pittsburgh, PA
2007 Cal Ripken and Tony Gwynn Hall of Fame Induction Weekend – Cooperstown, NY
2009 AA Eastern League All Star Game – Trenton, NJ
2010 AAA All Star Game – Allentown, PA
2001 South Atlantic League All Star Game – Salisbury, MD
2011 MLB All Star Game – Phoenix, AZ
