Celebrating & Championing Companionship

My father was a fantastic ballplayer. I don’t think anyone every really recognized or celebrated that fact. I would have enjoyed seeing him dive for groundballs on the infield grass, or call off teammates to catch a pop-fly at first. I like to think he was the type of batter to slap opposite field singles and race around the bases like a young, slender Don Mattingly. My father played first base just like Donnie Baseball. He never won a Gold Glove, but he’s won more than a few hearts.
My dad doesn’t have the same passion for baseball as he once did. He thinks the games are too long and too boring to watch. He disdains the bloated contracts and superstar egos. He even finds it hard to root for his beloved Mets, even though in his heart I know he still holds a torch for them. I love the game, even with its flaws and molasses pace. I think there’s a generational gap problem. I grew up in the ‘80’s and ‘90’s, before the game really changed for the worse in the late ‘90’s. My father’s generation enjoyed a much different game during the ‘60’s and ‘70’s. The game wasn’t about entertainment, payrolls and celebrities back then. Still, I know if it wasn’t for my dad’s love of baseball, I wouldn’t be the fan I am today. I might not even like the game at all if my dad hadn’t been so passionate about it. Dad taught me the fundamentals of baseball when I was six, and the game has stayed with me through my entire life. So yesterday, when my godmother told me how terrific Dad was on the diamond, I tried to comprehend how important the game was to his life.
I saw my father in a new light yesterday. He was reunited after 30 years with a family he lived with during graduate school. I saw him as a young man my own age, trying to make his way through life in the small town of Moscow, Pennsylvania. Dad’s words came out in stutters he was so tickled to see everybody again. These people he shared his life and spent many days with were wonderful. My godmother was as friendly as she was warm-hearted. Her children all had interesting, personable qualities. It was easy to see how my father fell in love with them. I used to hear stories about them all the time. I knew how much they had a distinct influence on him. I am sure he made an impression on their lives too. Listening to them share memories and hugs, I took myself out of the equation. It was like going back in history. My mother still had that same charisma that charmed everybody. My father was still trustworthy and honorable. I could see, through all the strange faces, how my parents were, and always would be, perfect for each other. Time hadn’t changed their relationship. My family’s own history could be traced through the family my father loved.
Dad was a baseball player first, before everything I know about my family existed. He used to coach softball while living in Pennsylvania. I know he won a championship with the girls he coached. I bet they partied to celebrate the accomplishment. Knowing what little I do about these people, I am sure they did exactly that. They had that type of companionship so vital to human livelihood. Yesterday made me realize how strong relationships can be. My father was this family’s companion. It was a celebration for him, and the party girl from Pittsburgh who he managed to make his life companion. No passion for a game can every replace that. I may never know what type of ballplayer my father was, but I do know what type of person he once was. He is still that same lovable guy who deserves our celebration.

Parting Points: Thank goodness the Jets signed Rivas. I didn’t really want to hear the excuses season-long.