Goodbye, Dad

[HokieUmp]

I wanted to post something yesterday, and planned to write something, but didn't get a chance.  So I'm typing it out this morning.

----------

 

Yesterday was Father's Day, and I hope every Dad out there had a good one.  I have two girls, and they both wished me a happy Father's Day, and they've both given me a grandchild - which, despite the early age at which they did so, it's turned out to be pretty effing cool to be a grandad, I have to say.

 

Unfortunately, I was at the funeral home, holding a viewing for my own dad, who died last Monday.

 

While I tend to be a mucher gooder writer than the usual IT type, this won't be some soaring, Mitch Albom-esque tale of tears, laughter, and a higher power.  It's just a simple posting, to people I (mostly) don't know in real life, just because .... well, just because.

 

We didn't share a lifetime love of the game together, but I certainly do have baseball memories of me and my dad.  I played as a kid for maybe six or seven years when we moved to the Mt Airy, Maryland area.  I was probably a spectacularly mediocre player, with my coke-bottle glasses at such a young age, but my folks always supported me at practices and games.  Being left-handed, I survived like Jamie Moyer at the LL Major level (which was just what we called "Little League" back in the 70s, before LL went all corporate, and added all the different age levels.  Or certainly before all that hit Mt Airy, anyway).  My highlight was pitching a six-inning relief no-hitter (got all 18 outs, something like 11 of them Ks), after the coaches son - of course, the starter, since LL didn't invent nepotism, it just fine-tuned it - walked the bases loaded.  My dad got to see that.

 

I went on to a partially-injured, semi-frightened year of Babe Ruth after that, where we "gently" segued from the 60' field to a full-blown diamond.  From the outfield, where I spent part of the year (RF, of course), I thought I could see the curve of the Earth.  After that, when I knew I wasn't a 'baseball guy' any more, I quit when the season ended.  I don't think Dad wanted me to, but he didn't stop me.

 

But we certainly were fans together.  He took me to my first MLB game in 1972.  We saw the Orioles in the old Memorial Stadium.  Don't remember who they played, and I only THINK they won, but I can still see images from that game, 41 years later.  And even though Memorial was probably a dump in reality, I remember thinking, every time, how beautiful the field looked when we walked through the portal.

 

Every year, after the schedule came out, we'd look at what we wanted to go to, and then pick four or five games to go see.  Usually weekends, and almost invariably Boston and New York.  And back then, you could get tickets - the Orioles were always good back then, but the fan base wasn't as good as they'll tell you were now.  In Feb/March, we could get tickets easy, and we always wanted to lower section.  We'd leave from home, drive through the city, and park somewhere on the streets around Memorial - never in the lots - and walk to the park.  And almost always well before game time, to watch BP and field warmups.

 

We made it to game one of the '79 ALCS, and then traded our seats for an equivalent value of Game One World Series tickets.  Went to that game twice, since the first try was snowed out (well, it was rain in B-more, but where WE lived, it was something like 8 inches of snow).  And still nearly froze to death out in the bleachers on try #2.  And to get what we had for game one, we sat in completely different places - Dad in right field, me in left.  He came and got me about halfway through, and I sat with him in RF, and had Eddie Murray put one in our section.

 

We stopped after the last game of 1982.  That was the one-game-for-it-all year with Milwaukee, and some drunk f--k made trouble, and marred the end for us.  I discovered the police station inside Memorial thanks to that, but Dad didn't press charges.  He just asked the cops to give us lead time before letting the guy out, so he wouldn't follow us.

 

I guess I was meek, even at 18-ish, because the next time he asked, I just said "nah."  Dad said I didn't have to worry about that happening again, but I was also hitting college age, and maybe I thought I was too cool, or some stupid s--t that teenagers think.  (And let's be prefectly honest:  Baltimore fans at Memorial - for both Os and Colts games - were sometimes brutal.  Drunk, rednecky/hillbillies, and belligerent.  It was getting less and less fun over time.)  And we never DID go to a game together again.  I still loved the Orioles, and liked the game, and we talked about the team, but that was it for going.  But that started me with the game, and it came back years later, when I started umpiring, so I'd like to think that my dad started me on the road to that.

 

I never became an athlete, but I was always good in school.  So my parents made sure I had the chances and opportunities that came along in that regard.  They had me attend summer programs by the state of Maryland, and weekend writing classes with a Johns Hopkins program;  they let me be a band geek (at least the coolest section - drumline);  they saved for years to put me through college.

 

And for the rest of life, my dad was always supportive of me, and was always someone I could sound my ideas off of, and give me advice.  Some might say TOO ready to do that, but I didn't mind.  Even though I made my own mind up about stuff, I still felt like I had a rudder to support me.

 

I went off to live/work in places like Hawaii, Australia, Japan (twice), Hampton Roads, and still called home fairly often.  (More than my wife does with her family, even, it seems.)  I still called to let my folks know I'd made it home safely from trips away somewhere.  I never really came back home, which I think they would have loved - lived in Maryland for a while in the late 90s - but still tried to stay in touch a fair bit.  Being a (probably spoiled) only child does that, I guess.  But I always felt like I had that foundation.

 

But with my mom's passing last year, and now my dad's, that's kind of gone.  What I think they did, or what I know they did, was give me the life skills and the opportunities to have the life I've had.  I paid them back, finally, with a wife and kids;  even though my girls are step-daughters, they are my girls in my heart, and my parents embraced them like they'd always been there.  And they got to see great-grandchildren, too, before they passed.

 

And I'd like to think that I paid them back by being a son they could be proud of, both with (some) accomplishments, and as a person.  Other people tell me they were, when they've seen me at funerals, or at nursing homes, so they were, and made it clear to other people.  So I can take some solace in that.

 

But in a few hours, I'll be at the cemetery, saying goodbye.  Although my girls, and their kids, and my wife, and my in-laws, will be there, it's going to feel very lonely.  It's the downside to being that spoiled only child.  But at least I know that my parents did the best they could to make me a decent person, and give me a good life.  And they did.

 

So, goodbye Mom (Nancy J., d. 5 June 2012).  And goodbye, Dad (Richard H., d. 10 June 2013).

 

Happy Father's Day.  And I love you.

 

 

[BigUmpire]

I wanted to post something yesterday, and planned to write something, but didn't get a chance.  So I'm typing it out this morning.

----------

 

Yesterday was Father's Day, and I hope every Dad out there had a good one.  I have two girls, and they both wished me a happy Father's Day, and they've both given me a grandchild - which, despite the early age at which they did so, it's turned out to be pretty effing cool to be a grandad, I have to say.

 

Unfortunately, I was at the funeral home, holding a viewing for my own dad, who died last Monday.

 

While I tend to be a mucher gooder writer than the usual IT type, this won't be some soaring, Mitch Albom-esque tale of tears, laughter, and a higher power.  It's just a simple posting, to people I (mostly) don't know in real life, just because .... well, just because.

 

We didn't share a lifetime love of the game together, but I certainly do have baseball memories of me and my dad.  I played as a kid for maybe six or seven years when we moved to the Mt Airy, Maryland area.  I was probably a spectacularly mediocre player, with my coke-bottle glasses at such a young age, but my folks always supported me at practices and games.  Being left-handed, I survived like Jamie Moyer at the LL Major level (which was just what we called "Little League" back in the 70s, before LL went all corporate, and added all the different age levels.  Or certainly before all that hit Mt Airy, anyway).  My highlight was pitching a six-inning relief no-hitter (got all 18 outs, something like 11 of them Ks), after the coaches son - of course, the starter, since LL didn't invent nepotism, it just fine-tuned it - walked the bases loaded.  My dad got to see that.

 

I went on to a partially-injured, semi-frightened year of Babe Ruth after that, where we "gently" segued from the 60' field to a full-blown diamond.  From the outfield, where I spent part of the year (RF, of course), I thought I could see the curve of the Earth.  After that, when I knew I wasn't a 'baseball guy' any more, I quit when the season ended.  I don't think Dad wanted me to, but he didn't stop me.

 

But we certainly were fans together.  He took me to my first MLB game in 1972.  We saw the Orioles in the old Memorial Stadium.  Don't remember who they played, and I only THINK they won, but I can still see images from that game, 41 years later.  And even though Memorial was probably a dump in reality, I remember thinking, every time, how beautiful the field looked when we walked through the portal.

 

Every year, after the schedule came out, we'd look at what we wanted to go to, and then pick four or five games to go see.  Usually weekends, and almost invariably Boston and New York.  And back then, you could get tickets - the Orioles were always good back then, but the fan base wasn't as good as they'll tell you were now.  In Feb/March, we could get tickets easy, and we always wanted to lower section.  We'd leave from home, drive through the city, and park somewhere on the streets around Memorial - never in the lots - and walk to the park.  And almost always well before game time, to watch BP and field warmups.

 

We made it to game one of the '79 ALCS, and then traded our seats for an equivalent value of Game One World Series tickets.  Went to that game twice, since the first try was snowed out (well, it was rain in B-more, but where WE lived, it was something like 8 inches of snow).  And still nearly froze to death out in the bleachers on try #2.  And to get what we had for game one, we sat in completely different places - Dad in right field, me in left.  He came and got me about halfway through, and I sat with him in RF, and had Eddie Murray put one in our section.

 

We stopped after the last game of 1982.  That was the one-game-for-it-all year with Milwaukee, and some drunk f--k made trouble, and marred the end for us.  I discovered the police station inside Memorial thanks to that, but Dad didn't press charges.  He just asked the cops to give us lead time before letting the guy out, so he wouldn't follow us.

 

I guess I was meek, even at 18-ish, because the next time he asked, I just said "nah."  Dad said I didn't have to worry about that happening again, but I was also hitting college age, and maybe I thought I was too cool, or some stupid s--t that teenagers think.  (And let's be prefectly honest:  Baltimore fans at Memorial - for both Os and Colts games - were sometimes brutal.  Drunk, rednecky/hillbillies, and belligerent.  It was getting less and less fun over time.)  And we never DID go to a game together again.  I still loved the Orioles, and liked the game, and we talked about the team, but that was it for going.  But that started me with the game, and it came back years later, when I started umpiring, so I'd like to think that my dad started me on the road to that.

 

I never became an athlete, but I was always good in school.  So my parents made sure I had the chances and opportunities that came along in that regard.  They had me attend summer programs by the state of Maryland, and weekend writing classes with a Johns Hopkins program;  they let me be a band geek (at least the coolest section - drumline);  they saved for years to put me through college.

 

And for the rest of life, my dad was always supportive of me, and was always someone I could sound my ideas off of, and give me advice.  Some might say TOO ready to do that, but I didn't mind.  Even though I made my own mind up about stuff, I still felt like I had a rudder to support me.

 

I went off to live/work in places like Hawaii, Australia, Japan (twice), Hampton Roads, and still called home fairly often.  (More than my wife does with her family, even, it seems.)  I still called to let my folks know I'd made it home safely from trips away somewhere.  I never really came back home, which I think they would have loved - lived in Maryland for a while in the late 90s - but still tried to stay in touch a fair bit.  Being a (probably spoiled) only child does that, I guess.  But I always felt like I had that foundation.

 

But with my mom's passing last year, and now my dad's, that's kind of gone.  What I think they did, or what I know they did, was give me the life skills and the opportunities to have the life I've had.  I paid them back, finally, with a wife and kids;  even though my girls are step-daughters, they are my girls in my heart, and my parents embraced them like they'd always been there.  And they got to see great-grandchildren, too, before they passed.

 

And I'd like to think that I paid them back by being a son they could be proud of, both with (some) accomplishments, and as a person.  Other people tell me they were, when they've seen me at funerals, or at nursing homes, so they were, and made it clear to other people.  So I can take some solace in that.

 

But in a few hours, I'll be at the cemetery, saying goodbye.  Although my girls, and their kids, and my wife, and my in-laws, will be there, it's going to feel very lonely.  It's the downside to being that spoiled only child.  But at least I know that my parents did the best they could to make me a decent person, and give me a good life.  And they did.

 

So, goodbye Mom (Nancy J., d. 5 June 2012).  And goodbye, Dad (Richard H., d. 10 June 2013).

 

Happy Father's Day.  And I love you.

Look in your grandchildrens eyes. You will see your parents. I do.

[JHSump]

Thanks for the post.  I am sorry about your father passing.

 

Your post made me think.

 

Whatever we do wrong, or don't do, I think our parents were, or are, still proud of us.  Yesterday I thought with regret about some of the things I missed out on doing for or with my father.  And some of the things I have not done, or did wrong with my children.  But, each of my children reached out to me (I was umpiring out of town).  It's the overall arc that matters.

 

And, I see my father in my son.  The personality, some physical quirks.  It's all good.  My son said, just a few weeks ago, that he wished he had gotten to know my father before he passed.  I think they would have gotten along very well.

[Stan W.]

outstanding post..............