“Dad…you should take a half day off tomorrow so we can hang out my last day before going back,” Jack said Monday night as I was leaving.
Things were crazy at work and I had a couple of projects pending, but how often do you get such a request…and a chance…to spend time with your son? Tomorrow is promised to no one, I remind myself regularly, and so enjoy each and every step of the journey.
I did as requested and we watched another episode of ‘Game of Thrones’ until I started nodding off. He noticed. “Get your glove and let’s play catch,” he said.
I had had trouble sleeping on my right shoulder the night before and chalked it up to the hay delivery from Monday, but as soon as I threw the first ball I knew what it was.
“Oww…my shoulder really hurts!” I said in a very manly voice.
“We don’t have to throw,” he said in a voice that was willing to concede I was old and frail.
“Nah…I’ll throw through it. It’s what real (dumb) men do,” I replied.
After a dozen throws it had loosened up and the sweat started flowing on the hot and muggy afternoon. I knew we’d be watching more TV and likely sitting and just talking for a period of time, so anything resembling a workout was going to take place right here and now and with a baseball as the catalyst. We just threw and talked and I couldn’t help but think of the countless hours I’d done the same thing with Steve Mascaro growing up in Bristol, Connecticut. I told Jack how baseball was all we had back then and all we did in our spare time.
“No one uses a playground for pick-up baseball anymore and kids don’t know how to play the game unless they’re in an organized program. I remember how you didn’t know where centerfield was when your first coach told you to go out there. We had our older brothers to teach us when we all headed to the sandlot after school and on weekends. No parents watching and no one worried that we’d be abducted. Well…my mom and dad were probably hoping someone would abduct Uncle Jim and me,” I said.
And it was the case. We learned the game that way…without adults. We learned to resolve disputes by throwing bats and gloves at each other, screaming and arguing, but in the end coming to some kind of mutually acceptable outcome so the game could continue. No one watched or sat on a bench. Everyone played. No one was very heavy and most of us were skinny. Ah well…
Jack acknowledged how even the soccer and basketball he played as a child, something we didn’t do, was all organized. “Yeah…I guess we never just went down to the playground until we were in high school for hoops,” he said.
We talked about his career and the lives of his siblings now…and ten years out. He has a solid plan and will execute it well. We ended up back at the TV and then onto another heavy, German dinner. I waddled to the car with only 10,000 steps for the day, but a very healthy dose of what really mattered…time with family.
Bonus: 10,500 steps.
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