Baseball

Ray Kinsella: "You catch a good game."
John Kinsella: "Thank you. It's beautiful here. It's like... well for me, it's like a dream come true. Can I ask you something?"
Ray: "Yes"
John: "Is this heaven?"
Ray: "No, it's Iowa."
John: "Iowa. I could've sworn this was heaven."
Ray: "Is there a heaven?"
John: "Oh yeah... heaven's where dreams come true."
Ray: "Then maybe this is heaven."
John: "Well.... good night, Ray."
Ray: "Good night."
Ray: "Hey... dad... you wanna have a catch?"
John: "I'd like that."

* * *

The first few minutes after each year's Super Bowl are an emotional time for me.

Not because of my love of football. Because of my love of baseball. Let me explain.

We have four sons, age 24, 23, 22 and 13. The two oldest played baseball through high school into college. The third son hung his cleats up after ending his little league years. Our fourth son may well play for another decade, as much as he loves the game.

My wife and I have spent countless hundreds of hours at baseball fields, throwing batting practice, catching bullpen sessions, shagging baseballs in the outfield. Usually, they are preceded by a quick meal at a family friendly local restaurant, or a nice meal at home afterwards. Baseball is the one unifying feature that allows us to truly bond with our sons, spending quality time with them, talking with them, visiting ballparks in distant cities with them, sharing our mutual joy and appreciation of the game.

This January, as most Januaries, it is my honor and privilege to nudge my sons who are playing competitive baseball back onto the field for sprints, long toss, batting practice, etc., in preparation for the upcoming season. This year, it is our 13 year old who has been the focus of those efforts. When I called out to Jake on Saturday for our practice session, I noticed something wistful in our 23 year old son's face or tone of voice. It seemed like he, too, felt the siren song of January's push to preparation for the upcoming baseball season. However, unlike years past, it was his younger brother's turn for my attention on Saturday.

Remembering what had happened the day before, yesterday afternoon, right before the Super Bowl, I called out to my 23 year old son, Jared and asked him to come to me. When he got there, I had my catcher's mitt on, and three baseballs in my throwing hand. I looked into his eyes, and, doing my best impression of Ray Kinsella from Field of Dreams, said, "hey son, want to have a catch?" He smiled broadly, with the warmth of 10,000 suns and enthusiastically said, "YES!!!" He bounded back up the stairs to get his shoes and baseball glove. For the next half hour, I played catch with my 23 year old son, just like we always had a decade earlier. When it was over, he walked right up to me and hugged me close, thanking me for our time together. I kissed him on the forehead and said, "no, son... thank YOU."

And so, with the last little bit of football business out of the way last night, comes the realization that one week from today, pitchers and catchers report to Major League Baseball spring training camp. I can't wait.