added 6/19/2005 by
This is of no import, merely the reflections of a 46-year-old looking back, thinking of his father, and his sons.
Some of my earliest memories are playing catch with my father. When I outgrew a glove, he'd take me to the Western Auto to get another. I still have the 1966 model.
Dad took me to the first-ever game at the Astrodome, April 9, 1965, against the New York Yankees, just so I could say I'd been there. Of course, being a kindergartner at the time, I didn't realize the importance; I was wanting the souvenir pennant, which I got and have since lost. One thing I didn't lose was the memory.
I played for the Port Arthur Optimist League Cardinals in 1968. In June of that year, I got my biggest hit ever, a triple to the left-field fence. After the game, the fathers organized a pickup game. My Dad was older than average and didn't really want to play, but he saw how disappointed I was and he did it for me. I remember him trotting out to his 1964 Corvair to get his golf shoes so he could play right field. I have no recollection of the game itself, just exulting... THAT'S MY DAD!
Dad passed away in July 1989. Would that he were here with me now, just to play catch with me once more. Just one toss.
The when I throw tosses to my own son, I realize, Dad *is* there with me, and with him, though they never met.
This article has no point, really, except to say to the fathers and sons who may be reading this: treasure your time together.
Happy Father's Day!