A catch with Dad....and Reagan



Yesterday is a day I hope to always remember.  It was, for the most part, a normal Saturday.  We had some work being done in the kitchen, my parents came up for dinner, but other than that nothing much different happened.  We were a bit displaced due to the construction in the kitchen so we ate on the back porch.  It was a nice change and not too hot.  Brooke couldn't cook everything she wanted to but it was a good meal anyway.  After the meal and as my parents visit was winding down, we were sitting on the back porch playing with the girls. At some point I asked my Dad if he wanted to "have a catch?"

See throwing a baseball back and forth is probably one of my favorite things I ever did with my Dad.  It is one of the favorite things he did with his father.  Fact is, fathers and sons all over America spend so many afternoons throwing the baseball back and forth.  It is time spent that I have gotten my father in law to appreciate.  He understands that it is much more than baseball.  Its a time for reflection, its a time for thinking about the future, its a time to bond.  I barely played baseball as a kid and my Dad's baseball days are over by 40 some odd years.  I was all about football.  Fact is, I would probably rather throw a baseball in the backyard than a football.  There is something so symbolic about playing catch with my Dad.  Back and forth, back and forth.  It was one of those things I always envisioned doing with my son when he grew up.

To my surprise when I asked Dad to have a catch he said yes.  The times we play catch don't happen as often as the used to or for as long as they used to.  When you're a kid you think you have forever to play catch with your father.  To the point where the dad probably is sick of throwing the baseball.  Then comes a time when the son doesn't want to play much anymore, yet the dad would probably give anything for a Sunday afternoon in the backyard playing catch with his boy.  You only hope that the son eventually comes back and plays catch again with his dad as much as they can with the time they have left.  How many more times will I play catch with Dad?  You think the number is limitless, there are always more afternoons to play catch.  But life happens and in reality- there are a limit on the times for Dad and I to have a catch. That is why I want to enjoy it as much as I can.

Well I go to grab my glove and Dad's glove that I have here just in case he ever decides to toss it around with me.  As I get up Reagan begs to play with us.  At first, I refuse.  This moment I was about to have was strictly for me and between my father and I.  I didn't want Reagan slowing us down.  I could see the disappointment in her eyes when I told her no but at first I felt she just didnt understand.  I knew she couldn't throw very well and I was worried about her catching a hard ball.  I didn't want her to get hit by a hard baseball, cry, etc.  She was not going to play.  As I went to the garage to get the gloves I had a change of heart.  I'm probably not going to have a son to play catch with so I need to take advantage of the time when my girl wants to.  So, I found her pink glove.  A first as far as I am concerned for the Ayers family backyard catch tradition.  Reagan's face lit up like a Christmas tree when I came out and handed her the glove.  She attempted to put the glove on her right hand and I then thought perhaps I had made a mistake.  I took a deep breath and put the glove on the proper hand, then three of us ran out into the backyard, taking the field like every home team at every ballpark in America.  I was on one end and there was my father on the other end of my backyard.  Right next to PawPaw was Reagan, big smile on her face, pink glove in hand.  Now my Dad was an excellent pitcher in baseball.  Drafted twice to the Majors.  Even at 65 years old, just like in basketball, I never worry about his accuracy.  I, on the other hand, have been known to break a few fence posts with my Rick "Wild Thing" Vaughn antics.  With that in mind, I didn't think it was safest for Reagan to be next to Dad.  I knew his throws would be pretty much on target and I can catch, so she would be safest by me.  The three of us got into a pretty good rhythm.  About every other pitch I would underhand it to Reagan and she would throw it back to me.  She only got hit in the head in the once and did a good job playing with us.  I think it is possible she enjoyed the catch as much as we did.  After a while, Dad's arm was getting tired and I knew the game was coming to an end.  Reagan had the line of the night when she looked at me and said, "Dad- my glove is the coolest because it lights up (which it does when a baseball hits the glove)."  I told her she was absolutely correct that her glove was the coolest because it lights up.  I looked at Dad and said "things I'd never thought I would say while playing catch with my Dad."

It was an amazing night and unfortunately I don't think I can put it words what it means for a father and his son...and the granddaughter, to play catch in my backyard.  Like all things in life you must adjust when it throws you a curveball.  Reagan taught me a very valuable lesson that I had lost sight of.  It's not just about baseball, its about doing something so symbolic with people you love.  That is why she so desperatley wanted to play with me.  It doesnt matter that she has a pink glove that lights up, it doesnt matter that she will never play in the Majors.  Playing catch has very little to do with baseball.  Sometimes being able to make that adjustment can make the difference between a good day to a great day, a minor leaguer to a major leaguer, a baseball player to a dictator that outlives every US President (Castro wanted to play in the Majors but couldn't hit a curveball).  I'm not sure last night was heaven, but it was pretty damned close.