I have always been a big baseball fan. I played it in high school, and while I might not have been the best player, it didn’t keep me from loving the game.
My dad was also a baseball fan. His love of the game was what he passed down to me. I always enjoyed going to the ball park with him while he taught me the different idiosyncrasies of the game.
When I learned that I was having a son, I knew that I wanted to pass down to him the love of baseball that my dad passed on to me. We took him to his first game when he was six months old, and he loved it. He was not speaking then, but you could tell he was intrigued. He had seen me watch baseball on TV, but seeing it in person? Completely different.
The aroma of hot dogs had his sense of smell heightened. As a baseball cracked against a swinging bat, his ears perked up. The lights of the scoreboard shone bright in eyes. He felt the grass tickling his feet, the sweet taste of the Cracker Jack he was gnawing on. He was loving the game. His senses must have been so aroused that by the 4th inning he was sleeping on our blanket in the outfield berm.
For a brief moment I was upset, wanting to share the entire experience with him. But then it hit me. It didn’t matter if he was sleeping. I was exposing him to the game at an early age, showing him just how much I loved baseball. And I can see he has the love for it, too.
My dad’s love of the game is what he passed down to me. And I hope my son passes that love down to a child of his own, as I look forward to the day when we can all catch that game together.
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