If He Only Knew
Today was a big day for my son and I. We started the day with a family trip to the ballpark planned. We go to all the Memphis Redbirds home games on Sunday afternoons. It turns out that today my girls were sick with the flu so J.R. and I went alone. Since it was just the two of us, I thought I'd spring for more expensive seats. While waiting in line for tickets a man walked up and asked if I needed two seats. I told him yes and he proceeded to give me two club seats right behind home plate and wouldn't take any money for them. He told me that the best way to pay him was for my son and I to have a great afternoon together at the ball-game.
The game was a good one (1 to 1) for most of the game. We had ice cream and peanuts. We ran into the mascot on the way to the concession stand and J.R. was thrilled to shake a hand. It was really fun for me to answer his questions about the game. In my youth I had quite a passion for the game and some of that still lives. But the big moment came in the 7th inning when one of the Redbirds hit a foul ball right over our heads. I immediately felt the thrill of maybe catching a ball for my son. This is a key point because in all the games I've ever gone to I have never caught a foul ball or home run. I have always wanted to get one - for me. But here I was watching this ball bounce on the roof and in the rafters hoping that I could get it for J.R.. As luck (or Divine appointment) would have it, I caught the ball with a move suitable for the play of the day tapes. I handed the ball to J.R. and by the look on his face you'd think I'd given him a million dollars. I've never seen him so thrilled. Words cannot express the feeling that I had giving him that ball - the one I never got.
On the way home J.R. asked how many times I had caught a ball like that. When I told him how that was the first he asked why I gave it to him. I told him that it was way better for me for him to have it. I told him he wouldn't understand that until he had a son of his own. I thought about that the rest of the way home.
In 1990 my dad took me to game two of the World Series. I'll never forget it as long as I live. It was one of those great father-son moments that are so powerful. The Reds won in the bottom of the 10th and went on to win the series. I have never had words to tell my father how much being at that game meant to me. It wasn't the ball-game, it was the time.
I'll bet when J.R. grows up the baseball we got today will be in a box somewhere stashed away. But I hope he will remember the time, I certainly will. Today was a big moment for me in that I now have a little insight into what my dad might have been thinking at the ball-game 13 years ago. On one hand I hate thinking I'm old enough to be thinking like my dad. On the other hand I'm glad to have some understanding from the other perspective.
Thanks dad. Thanks J.R. And maybe even thanks Alexander Joy Cartwright.