I have not always been a baseball fan. As a kid I did not play T-ball or little league and my idea of sandlot baseball was swatting tennis balls into traffic. I did play in a church softball league once but I was so bad Jesus would have thrown his Bud Light at me. Any interest in America’s pastime simply did not exist for me. That is until the 1993 World Series.
My Dad has always been a Philadelphia Phillies phan. Even if he has never been able to tell me exactly why. To my knowledge he has spent most of his adult life in Iowa. Any Iowan has the luxury of choosing one of the many teams hosted by the surrounding states, though I think most are Cubs fans. Not my Dad, I think his distain for the Cubs had something to do with his choice of following a team 1000 miles away.
Until the ‘93 NL Pennant series I had never seen my Dad so excited. I can still picture his reaction when the Phillies beat the Atlanta Braves for the NL Pennant. His large frame literally shook the house as he hopped up and down like a little kid. The excitement was contagious and baseball suddenly became visible to me. The Phillies were on their way to the World Series and I was a newly minted phan.
I watched each game of the nail-biting World Series with my Dad. I remember feeling like they just could not fail. If nothing else the excitement coming from our house would be enough to propel them to victory. Unfortunately my first taste of baseball would be washed down with the bitter taste of heartbreak. I can’t say that I blame Mitch Williams, I just think it is the chance you take with a closer nicknamed “Wild Thing”. Sorry Dad, next year.
As I got older my love for baseball cooled to a smolder. My college roommate, an avid Cubs fan, kept me interested through the college years. We even took a few trips to Wrigley Field to watch the Cubs (again, sorry Dad). On one particularly lucky day my friends and I managed to see the Cubs at Wrigley then drove north to see the Brewers at the new (at the time) Miller Park. I still loved watching the boys of summer but was not until transitioning that my love of the game grew to a full fire.
I knew that coming out could cause a rift between my Dad and I. I was not sure how he would accept me and I wanted to make sure I had some kind of plan. It was my hope that baseball would be a topic he could feel comfortable talking to me about regardless of anything else. A year prior to telling him, I began to play fantasy baseball in an effort to learn as much as possible. After that year I could hold my own in baseball conversation and trash talk complete with stats. Not only had I learned to really appreciate the game but I had also built a bridge for my Dad.
Though his reaction to my news was not nearly as sever as I had anticipated, I feel that my idea was successful. I think we have had longer conversations and connected much better because of baseball. Now when I call home he does not think I am just trying to reach Mom and I know just who will be calling me after a huge home run or a close call at the plate. Because of my Dad, I am now the one who is jumping up and down. I hope he knows how much his passion has helped us both.
As I write this, the Phillies lead the Nationals 11 – 1 on this opening day. Go Phillies!
No comments:
Post a Comment