Home Run for Dad
I have a very busy weekend coming up so I wanted to post something tonight.
This Sunday is Father’s Day and it will be a very emotional one for yours truly.
For those that visit here often and have been with me for sometime I think you understand why.
This will undoubtedly be the last such holiday that will find me actively participating.
I’m surprised my father is still hanging in there but if he can, so can I.
I plan on being there on Sunday to feed him lunch and will hopefully get my hands on some kind of special dessert; preferably something soft, sweet and chocolate.
I’ll tell him a few stories about the Red Sox and the Celtics and feel kind of sad because I know I’m doing it more for me than I am him, or so I think. Anything that will make the moment seem more normal is what I’m shooting for. I’ll take the inevitable stroll down Memory Lane and . . .
I’ll remember him after my sister’s wedding when we had a party back at the house.
He was in his glory that night. His daughter was married earlier that day to the love of her life and the wedding went beautifully. He was healthy and happy, as was my mother.
There were people everywhere and there was nothing that could soil his mood.
One of the groomsmen had a few too many drinks and happened to walk right through the screen door of the den (it was a hot August night) and I think Dad pissed himself laughing.
We all did.
It was the laughter that I remember from that night, his happiness, my mother’s glow.
These are the things I’ll think about when I see him on Sunday, trying hard to forget about the sadness, the loss and the many tears.
Upon leaving him, I’ll have a moment to myself because in my heart it will be one of the last.
This Father’s Day, I’m dedicating my world to the man that never missed one of my baseball games, stuck by me through thick and thin (though he knew I was probably wrong), loved me even though I was, at times, a mischievous and unruly son.
I pray to God that he always knew how very much I loved him and wanted to make him proud.
In my mind, it’s the bottom of the ninth with 2 outs, no score and no men on base.
This one’s for you, Wally.
And I’m hitting this one out of the park.
All I need now is an “after game” burnt hot dog with mustard and all will be right with the world . . .