HE GREW UP WORKING HARD. He was in charge of the family mule,“Henry”; without whom there would be no way to plow the fields. If the crop wasn’t planted and harvested the family would have no food.
His disabled Dad meant hard luck in that day and time; everybody that was able worked or found some way to make a dime. Life became an even greater challenge after he lost his mother; she was only 37. But when play time came, he collected his cousins and skinny-dipped across the road toward the Dixon County side of the Harpeth River. Sometimes his dad would grab the fungo bat and, unable to stand, from a front porch bench, taught him to love the game of baseball.
Less than two years after his mother passed, Japan attacked the US at Pearl Harbor. Dad decided to join the Marines. At the recruiting office, Gunny ordered him to go back to his Mama. “Only MEN become Marines.” Shortly thereafter, he found himself “being schooled” in North Carolina. After a few weeks, they put him on a train to California for intense training. Then, “After a short little boat ride” he was soon digging a hole in the sand on a hot, humid, sulfur-laden island named Peleliu. He rarely talked about it. “I have no idea how all those bullets missed me. I saw things; bad, bad things; things no man should ever have to see.”
But after the war-chores were over, it was time for baseball. Dad decided to make a run for the pros. He made it as far as semi-pro before he met a woman; or should I say, THE woman. He still managed to play ball, but marriage brings other responsibilities. He finished his law degree and became domesticated. As he didn’t care for law practice, he decided to give sales a try. Somewhere in the flurry of life's blurred pace he added to his family the first of three new humans who called him, “Dad.” And his life was never the same.
He became a warrior of the heart. He and Mom decided they would raise their children in a home void of arguments, fusses, constant fights, cursing—and no alcohol and tobacco. The focus would be on God and the family. Family weapons training would be covert—the unexpected use of integrity, truth, trust, love, giving, wisdom, and family togetherness. It was quite an arsenal. We prayed and worshipped together. Laughed together. Dad believed there are too many good words left unsaid in life to use bad ones. “Use the good ones up first.” There are far too many good deeds and kind remarks left unsaid and undone to choose otherwise. He taught me this and more every evening in the back yard as we pitched and tossed a baseball until it was too dark to see. I'd love to do that one more time! And I always thought it was about baseball.
I will share one story that shows how powerful Dad became at his game. And how smoothly he taught me to be a man and dad. I witnessed him totally disarm with humor a New Yorker who challenged him once—on 5th Avenue—for wearing a Georgia Bulldog outfit. The man cursed and mocked our southern accent and made a few more remarks about the IQ of the team members. Dad listened, smiling and shaking his head with understanding. Then with only a word—well, that word was, “Woof-woof-woof-woof"—and a question, “What do you think of that?” He had everyone within hearing distance laughing; and the well-dressed man fled, looking back now and then. Dad turned to me and grinned, “Play Ball!”
How does one build a great Dad? No man can build himself into a great Dad. We were made to follow the pattern given by an experienced, wise and patient Father who longs to teach us to love the game. Please don’t attempt it alone. Oh, so many have made that mistake. He will instruct as he makes us go through the motions in practice. He will give helpful suggestions because He knows us better than ANYONE else. He will play pitch and toss every day until it’s time to go to sleep, and then pray over us in the night. He will be your greatest fan as he watches your game closely. Spend time with Him. It’s your decision! My advice? Play Ball!
©️Copyright 2020, revised 2021 MyPericope.com
Kommentare