Well, it’s almost here. This is my time of year. The smell of fresh cut grass, spring time air and memories of my childhood running through my head. Friends, laughter and freedom. A freedom from the “real” world, where your biggest concern was who’s house you would be sleeping over at on Friday or Saturday. Homework, nah, Nintendo! Girlfriends, sure, that would be cool, but the Buddies, you always had your Buddies.

The one sound I will always love is the crack of a bat on a baseball. There is just something about Baseball that sparks an energy within me. Maybe its remembering my Dad; My coach. He was (is) passionate about Baseball. I don’t have many memories but I do remember my Dad teaching and molding me into the all star (in his eyes) that I became. I remember him telling me to stop smiling when I step up to bat. That the pitchers needed to know I was serious. And although I don’t remember much about my childhood, I do remember My Dad being just that, My Dad.

There was nothing like playing Baseball and now that I’m older I realize that its much more than a sport, it’s a connection. My Dad is a phone call away in California but when I’m in the stands watching the Angels smack another run over the Rangers fence I feel closer to him. Like he’s there with me. It’s like I’m on the field again and he is teaching me how to position my feet when I swing the bat.

My Dad and I weren’t always close. I didn’t always have this same nostalgic feeling. There was a time where I rarely spoke to him and as I look back now I sometimes wish things had been much different. But, you know what, we will always have Baseball. No matter what, when I watch, talk, play or think about this great sport I will always think of the greatest Man I know, My Father.

V.