Father's Day

Winston-Salem, NC – I promised that there would be no sap in this blog. I know that I’m a day late, but yesterday was Father’s Day. I’m sure that everyone has some encyclopedia of hilarious, serious, and educating stories from their father. One quick story about Pat, who most of you know quite well, ties directly to one of the main subjects of this blog, baseball. On Sunday, September 17, 1989, my dad took Kevin and me to our first baseball game at Memorial Stadium in the northern neighborhoods of Baltimore. The Orioles lost the game 7-0 to the Kansas City Royals as we sat in the left field bleachers enduring the hot sun. After nearly a full season of learning the rules of baseball on TV and grasping what batting average's and RBI’s were under my dad's tutelage, we were ready for to view the game in person. Kevin, who was 4 at the time, mostly sat on my dad’s lap during the game. As the fans surrounding us taunted Bo Jackson, the Royals left-fielder, we learned about bunting, stealing, sacrifice flies, and bullpens. I don’t remember specific plays during the game, but I do remember my dad pointing out specific players: Cal Ripken, Joe Orsulak, and Brady Anderson. I’ve been infatuated with the game ever since this day. If you’ve been to my place (either in Rockville or Greensboro) in the past couple of years, you know that I collect the ticket stubs of all the sporting events that I attend. The ticket for this particular game has been missing since the previous century. If there was one stub that I could have in my collection, it would be the one to my first game.

After a ballpark dog, some smuggled-in Gatorade, a cloud of fluffy blue cotton candy, and a lot of Royals base runners touching home plate, we departed the stadium. I don’t think I’ve seen as many people in one location as I did that afternoon. Upon returning to the car, my dad paid a quarter to each of the neighborhood kids for “guarding” his car, i.e. they didn’t snap off his radio antenna.

Growing up, many buddies would “hide” their dads because every acquaintance would be an awkward exchange of hello’s. Pat, as I’m told as he was growing up, has always been a laid-back guy. I’m very thankful for that. We share many things in common, but above all else, I’d say baseball is the glue that brings us together. For those of you who make fun of my baseball obsession, it’s not just some silly game. It brings generations of families together. Thanks dad, for taking me out to the ol’ ballgame!