On being a Son!

Dad's are really important in our family. Of course I'm a dad writing this so I'm biased. So are Mother's, but today's blog is a special occasion. When your dad gets to a certain age and you get to a certain age you realize that both of you are more mortal than you had ever anticipated. Your dad has always been there, but now you realize he may not always be there. You recall many of the great times you had together, such as fishing in Biloxi, MS for perch, not knowing how good the catfish could be - or driving cross country singing songs, playing license plate games, and the like with all with the windows rolled down since there was not air conditioning, - going to a San Francisco Giants game with dad and grandpa, - or working in the yard trying to achieve the perfection dad expected.

As I grew older I loved to hear the stories of dad growing up. Of the time he rolled the model-T, or stole watermelons off the back of a moving truck, or when he was small and ran into a fire truck that was also moving (thankfully slowly) and was knocked out. The one story he told that stuck with me through the years was when he was in high school summer baseball, he hit a triple off of Bob Feller. Feller went on to become a Hall of Fame pitcher. He spent his whole career with the Cleveland Indians, a career that spanned 20 seasons, and 428 games. In 1962 he was inducted into the Baseball Hall of Fame. To me that meant dad must have been a pretty good ball player. It wasn't until recently he told me that when his family moved from Clarinda, IA to Des Moines that he discovered he wasn't as good as he thought he was, but I still think he was probably pretty good.

Recently I met a young man who used to be a sport agent, and one of the people he represented was Bob Feller, after Mr. Feller was in retirement. I told him the story of my dad hitting a triple off of Bob Feller and he said, "That's really a great story. Would it be okay if I got a signed ball from Mr. Feller for your dad?" Would it! Are you kidding me. It would be great. So I said yes, please see if you can. It took longer than I expected, but the baseball finally came. In the meantime, my oldest son, who lives in Des Moines, went to the public library archives and found the 1937 and 1938 North High School yearbooks with photos my father's baseball teams. He made a photocopy of the photos and gave them to me. I played with them a little bit, put together some text, framed the photo and got a case for the ball and sent them to my middle sister. Also, I made a Christmas card with a baseball on it and put dad's signature on it and a message from all of us kids in it. Then I sent it off to my middle sister in California. As I write this they are opening gifts and I'm waiting for a Skype call to participate in the "LAST GIFT" of the day.

Of all of the things we could have found for my father for Christmas, this is at the top of the list! Of course we could never have purchased it. All of us are excited by it and we know our dad will be. For all of us this is an act of love.

And finally, I have usurped my sister's photo of Dad with his Christmas present. I was able to participate via Skype and it was great to hear his excitement. Merry Christmas Dad.