The Day Dad Almost Struck Out

The Day Dad Almost Struck Out

Publication: The Lookout

Date: June 18, 2000

Column: From the Editor's Desk

Category: Family; Fatherhood; Sports

I enjoy a good game of baseball. I like the smell of a well-worn leather glove, and the way it feels when you snag a long fly ball while your teammates cheer.

I like the crack of a bat making full contact with a pitch, and the sight of a high line drive headed toward the outfield fence.

When I can't play the game myself, I like to watch great athletes play. I like the excitement of a home run, the graceful teamwork of a big league double play, the strategic maneuvers of managers trying to outsmart each other, and the competition when a fastball pitcher faces the other team's cleanup hitter.

When my three children were young, I enjoyed taking them to baseball games. I wanted the kids to appreciate the sport just as I do, so throughout the nine innings I would explain the finer points of the game. I talked enthusiastically about infield fly rules and earned run averages, double steals and RBIs, hit and run plays and slugging percentages.

Meanwhile, the kids were saying, "Dad, can I get some cotton candy?" Or, "Dad, can we find the guy who sells ice cream sundaes?"

I tried hard to be patient, but I couldn't help feeling irritated. They were missing the whole point of the game!

I tried to explain the sacrifice bunt that just happened on the field. Meanwhile, the kids were preoccupied with laughter because the man seated three rows in front of us was wearing a funny hat.

Finally I thought, Well, my wife is here. She's an adult. At least SHE will want to learn about the game. At least SHE will appreciate what I'm saying. So during the late innings, I turned my attention to her. I explained how the manager was making a double switch—a complicated maneuver when he brought in a relief pitcher and juggled the lineup to give his team maximum advantage. Candy listened patiently to my detailed explanation, paused for a moment, then looked me in the eye and said, "Do you want the rest of that popcorn?"

I have to admit, once in awhile Candy would ask a baseball-related question—usually something like this: "Do you think the players feel bad when they have to sit on the bench?" Or, "Who gets to choose the color of their uniforms?"

Beginning to feel really frustrated, I thought, You're in this huge stadium, surrounded by thousands of fans, watching great athletes perform in a tight game, and all you care about is popcorn and the color of the uniforms? I almost felt like shouting, "You're missing the whole point!"

And then I realized: I was the one who was missing the point.

This family outing wasn't about baseball. It wasn't about double steals and RBIs. It wasn't about batting averages and pitching duels.

It was about being with my kids. It was about seeing chocolate ice cream drip down my son's chin while he grinned with delight. It was about holding my daughters' trusting hands as we walked through the crowd into the stadium. It was about feeling my little girl's hair swish gently against my neck as she fell asleep in the eighth inning.

It was about a wife who loved me enough to spend three hours enduring something she didn't personally enjoy just so we could be together and give our kids special memories. Absorbed with my own agenda, my mind racing with sports trivia, I nearly struck out on the most important playing field of all.

In the big picture, it doesn't matter who wins or loses a ball game. But losing the chance to build your family into a team? That would be a painful loss indeed.