Between the Lines: A Father, A Son, and America's Pastime

My dad coached all of my brother’s teams. My brother was always really good, but he didn’t seem very happy…neither did dad. Dad didn’t come to many of my games. Everyone said it was because he’s sick. Funny thing, I got sick during the game he came to...maybe I caught it from him. But I got better the next day. I wonder why he never got better.

It was pretty cool for dad to come to that game because I went 2 for 2 against a 12-year-old pitcher. I also made some good plays at second base, even though I didn’t like catching grounders because I was always afraid they would bounce up and hit me in the face. But only 9 and 10-year-olds play outfield.

My stomach started hurting real bad when it was my turn to bat again. I just stood there in the dugout. Everybody was yelling at me to bat, but it hurt so bad I almost couldn’t walk. My coach said, "What’s the matter with you? It’s your turn to bat.”

“I have to go to the bathroom.”
“Well, go.”

Nobody ever went in those bathrooms unless they drank way too many Double Colas before the game, or if the big guys pushed them in there and locked the door. So when your stomach hurt, all we could do was to stand still while they called our parents to pick us up and take us home.

“I can’t go in there.”
“Why not?”
“Um, there’s no toilet paper.”
“Well, here, use my handkerchief.”

Oh my gosh...I didn’t know what to do, so I stood there sweating and then started crying. The coach yelled for my parents. When I left the dugout, my dad was there to meet me. Mom always made sure I got to practice and games, and she washed my uniform. So I usually let her walk with me and take me home, especially when I did good… or got sick.


I didn’t see dad very much because he was hardly ever home. I didn’t know what to say to him. He was a real good baseball player, so it was pretty cool that he was there today because I played a good game. He heard the fans clap for me when I walked off the field. I let him walk with me and take me home.

We walked to his car. When we got in, he said, “So were you afraid to bat against that big guy?”
Maybe he didn’t see me hit the ball or make those good plays…but maybe he did. I started crying again, even though my stomach didn’t hurt as much anymore.
“What are you crying about?”
“I just don’t feel good.”