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

The walls are dark, but Sam wants Cubs blue. A big red C hangs on the wall. The woodshop teacher at the school where Cathy teaches made it. Sam’s hat is on his dresser, still covered by real dirt from a real baseball field. His trophy sits out so he won’t forget to put it in his backpack with other important stuff, like his Batman shirt and his sword, to take to Florida. “Daddy, will you read me that baseball book again?”

I’m not sure I can stay awake long enough to read the book the full seven times it takes to put a five-year-old to sleep, so I look for a way out. I remember he said he was “too tired to walk,” which is why I carried from the family room to his bed. Thinking I’ve found my way out, I say, “Sure, if you go get it.”

Suddenly rejuvenated he hops up, runs to his dresser and jumps back in bed with the book, H is for Home Run. He opens it and hands it to me. “Here’s the first page.”
“Okay. A is for All Stars…”
“Daddy, you think I’ll be an all star?”
“I think you can if you work hard. But there are no all stars in tee ball.”
“How long is tee ball?”
“You play tee ball until you’re six years old.”
“Awwww…”

B…C…D…E is for error…”
“I didn’t make any errors, did I?” he asks.
“There aren’t any in the official tee ball record book. They really don’t count those until League 3.”
“League 3, is that big kids?”
“Pretty big. Seven- and eight-year olds.”
“That’s a long time.”
“Seems like it.”

“M…N…O…P is for pitcher…”
“I’m going to be a pitcher…and a catcher,” Sam says.
“At the same time?”
“Sure. When do I get to pitch?”
“Well, that would be League 2, when you’re 9 years old”
I want to read more slowly.

“S is for Steal…”
“Steal, what’s that?”
“It’s when a runner goes from one base to the next without the batter hitting the ball. You won’t do that until League 1, when you’re 11 and 12 years old.”
“Like Mark?”
“Yep.”

“Z is for zeroes.”
Sam is puzzled. “Zeroes?”
“Zeroes across the board means the pitcher threw a perfect game. Nobody even got on base.”
“Whoa! I’m gonna do that.”
“I suppose that’ll happen in Babe Ruth League.”
“Where do I play after that?”
“After that it’s high school, then off to college.”
“How old will I be in college?”
“Nineteen years old.”
“That’s a long time.”
“It’s sooner than you think.” It’s sooner than I want it to be.
“I don’t want to go to college.”
“You will.”
At that moment, I didn’t want him to, either.

“The End.”
Wow, that was quick. I ask, “Want me to read this again?”
His eyes are closed. He’s probably dreaming about stealing bases, pitching a perfect game and catching; all at the same time. He’s already gone; sooner than I want him to be.

“Daddy, can we go to Ben’s game?”
“I think that’s a great idea.”

Ben’s a freshman in high school, but he gets to dress out on the varsity team for the sectionals. A tornado blew his other house away. So now he lives across the street from us. He’s tall and has three brothers: Nick, Sam and Fred. They play baseball too. Sam thinks it’s very cool.
We take our seats on the metal bleachers. “What are they doing?”
“Well, Sam, they’re taking infield and getting warmed up.”
“Is that big guy with the bat on Ben’s team?”
“No, he’s the coach.”
“Can I have a hot dog?”
“Sure.”
The lady in front of us turns around, looks at Sam, and smiles.

“Daddy, what did he do?”
“Well, that’s called a bunt.”
“It didn’t go very far.”
“No, it’s not supposed to. It’s called a ‘sacrifice.’ See, the guy from second got to third while they were throwing the batter out.”
“Does Albert Pujols do that?”
“Not much.”
“I’m not going to, either. Can I get a Gatorade?”
“Sure.”
“And some candy?”
“……Okay.”
The lady turns around again, this time chuckling lightly.

“Daddy, what happens if Ben’s team wins?”
“They play in the regionals next week.”
“Then what?”
“Well, if they win that, they go to semi-state. If they win there, they play in the state finals.”
“Can me and you go to all those games?”
“Well, we’ll see.”
“Can I go play with Nick and Sam and Fred?”
“Yes, but check back with me a few times, okay?”
“Okay.”
This time the lady looks back and, still smiling, just sort of shakes her head.

“Sam, let go of my shoe. What are you doing down there?”
“I can’t get up there; it’s too crowded.”
“Okay, climb up.”
“Daddy, I have to poop.”
“Oh, Sam, can’t you wait until we get home?”
“No, I have to go real bad.”
“Okay, let’s go.”
The lady in front of us tries to hide her laughter, but I can see her shoulders bouncing.

“Did you see that? It was a home run double,” Sam says.
“It’s called a ground rule double.”
“What’s that?”
“When the ball bounces over the fence, the batter gets an automatic double. Does that make sense?”
“I guess so.”
“Where’s Nick and Sam and Fred?”
“They’re still playing.”
“Are you going to go play with them?”
“No, I’m gonna sit with you for a while.”
Another smile from the lady in front of us.

“So what happens if Ben’s team loses?”
“Then it’s all over.”
“Forever?”
“Until next year.”
“Then what?”
“Well, after next year, he’ll have two more years in high school.”
“Then what?”
“If he’s good enough, he can play in college.”
“Then what?”
“If he’s really good, he’ll play pro. Or maybe some day he’ll have kids and he can be their coach.”
“Like you?”
“Yeah.”
“I’m gonna play baseball in high school.”
“Are you going to play pro baseball?”
“Well, maybe. Or I might be a coach like you.”
The lady in front of us turns all the way around. “Enjoy these times; they’re special,” she says.
I smile. “Yes, they are. So do you have a son playing?”
“Oh, no, my grandson is on the team. My son is the coach.”

Sam tugs on my sleeve. “Daddy, what did that grandma say?”
“Well, mostly she said baseball is special.”

Cathy and Sam discuss where he came from. “Sam, do you remember being born?”
“Yes.”
“What was it like?”
“I was sad. I kept pushing and trying to get out of there.”
“How come?”
“Because I wanted to get to you and daddy.”

Another night, Sam and Cathy were saying their prayers. “Thanks for my mommy and my daddy, and grandma and grandpa, and my tummy mommy, and for my friends, and for our house, and for helping me be bad.”

Cathy looks over at him. He smiles…“Ahh, gotcha Jesus.”

Then one night, Sam thanks God for everything he can think of. Then he delivers a twist that would make any screenwriter proud: “Thank you for letting me be adopted.”

As Sam’s parents, it’s our responsibility to teach him, make him happy; to the best of our ability, remind him why he’s here on this earth. In Sam’s case, it’s our privilege to explain how he came to Cathy and me; to make sure he knows that we chose each other. Sometimes those roles are reversed.

“Thank you, God, for letting us adopt Sam.”