Dad and Baseball

The Phone rings

" Hello. "
" Hi son."
" Hi dad. "
" How ya doing?"
" Good dad, How you doing?"
" Oh Ok, thought I'd call in my lottery numbers."

This is a typical call from dad. He's been calling me his lottery numbers to play twice a week for ten years because they don’t have a lottery in Alabama.

" Got em, I'll get those numbers for ya dad."
" Geeze thanks so much Son, if you ever need anything let me know. I got that new TV you know, I've been watching my favorite baseball team, wow, you should see my TV, when they have the camera behind home plate and the pitcher throws the ball.. I duck.. It looks like he threw it right at me. "
" That’s funny dad "
" Are you still going to those meetings?"
" Oh yeah dad, every day."
" Still every day, how long has it been now?
"Just over ten years dad."
" My, that’s amazing , I'm proud of you. If I can help with anything just let me know, ok?"
" Ok dad."
" Well I got to go now, thanks for getting the lotto numbers,love ya son.."
" Love ya dad "

My story is your average tale of the downward spiral of chemical addiction and alcohol, and the upward climb back towards normalcy. Millions of people share the same story. I started with pot and beer in early adolescence, by late teens it was hard liquor and narcotics, by 22 I was smoking crack cocaine every day and was in total denial of having a problem. I was a mess.

Its hard to briefly describe the damage… physically, psychologically, emotionally, spiritually, socially, economically, a ruined marriage, estranged from my baby son and step daughter, being unemployable.

On 9-10-1993 I surrendered to the AA program and slowly worked my way back. By the grace of God and a Christian sponsor who gently helped me turn back to the Lord, I recovered.

I’ve come to realize that I didn’t get my old life back that I thought I was going to in the beginning of recovery- rather I’ve found working a recovery program has enabled me to start becoming a totally different person- the one God meant me to be.

Obviously, living sober has its benefits; my family relationships have been repaired, I have a good job and I was able to obtain full custody of my son in that first year. What a blessing to see him grow into a wonderful young man free from the social trappings I fell into at his age.

I married a beautiful woman. She's in recovery also. We've built a life together that is more rewarding than I could have dared imagine. We’ve purchased a home, are active members in our church and are still very involved in the recovery community.

We work hard on our relationship. Both being in recovery means we perhaps have additional challenges. What successful marriage doesn't have challenges?

We sought out a Christian marriage counselor. During one of the counseling sessions the three of us were discussing- go figure- recovery and the counselor asked me; “So what in your childhood was so terrible that it made you turn to drugs and alcohol.”

WHAT? That was all I could say. What?

I had a great childhood… couldn’t remember anything that was all that bad. Then it happened. It just popped into my head.

When I was six I wanted to join little league baseball. I brought home the permission slips and brochure from school. I fancied myself becoming a great baseball player someday. My parents bought me a glove, bat, ball, and the uniform with cap and I was assigned to a team.

I especially remember going to that first practice, and how my dad drove me to the ball field…well, actually he only drove me to within seeing distance of the ball field. He pulled the car over to the curb explaining that he was dropping me off here and that I was to run across the block to the ball field and he would be right here to pick me up after the practice. I was confused but this was my turn to play and without any hesitation I was out of that car and running towared the ball field.

I went to a few practice sessions like that, each time my dad dropping me off a block away and being there to pick me up afterwards.

I recall one practice the ball coming my way in right field and not catching it like I was supposed to…scrambling, running to the missed ball while the other kids screamed, “throw the ball,” throwing the ball as hard as I could and seeing it fall to the ground only half way to the nearest teammate and rolling to a stop while the batter was running the basses and everyone was screaming at me.

I remember that first real baseball game getting dropped off a block away just like practice and sitting on the bench until my first chance at bat. I was thinking this is it. I am gonna hit a home run like Babe Ruth. Stepping up to the plate I hear the catcher say; "he's a whiffer, he can’t hit, strike him out" and a lump forming in my throat and tears forming after the first strike and not bothering to look back towards my team for support after the second strike because I knew my dad wasn’t there. When I struck out it seamed the whole world was screaming names at me, even my teammates. I was all by myself. The other kids' dads were there but mine wasn’t. Nobody stood up for me. I remember walking back to the bench with my head down, sitting and staring at the ground.

I made up my mind I was never gonna hear atta-boy from my dad because he wasn’t there, and I was never going to hear if I needed anything he'd be there for me. I made up my mind that I was gonna quit baseball. And that’s what I did.

Dad drove me to the coach’s house and he made me take the uniform up to the door and quit the team while he waited in the car.

I was sitting there in the counsellors office with my wife, tears rolling down my cheeks, as I relived feelings I had buried as a six-year-old. The counselor asked, "So what are you going to do about it now?" We agreed taking time to process was reasonable.

Some days passed. How could I start healing? Dad and mom have been divorced 30 years now. Dad has lived in a mobile home in Alabama for 25 years. He is 77. How could I justify calling dad up and saying; "Guess what I just remembered what you did to me 36 years ago?" What would that accomplish? Would I really feel better bringing it up? Would he remember? Would I be creating more hurt?

Let me say here there is no way I blame my addictions due to this one thing. There are many reasons for my addictions and alcoholism.

I began wondering about all those phone conversations with dad these past ten years. How could my dad, who talks to me all the time about baseball, never misses a game on TV, not participate in baseball with me when I was a kid? It didn’t make sense.

I call my brother in Columbus and ask him.

He replies, “dad never mentions baseball to me, I don’t think he likes sports. "
I call my sister, same response - dad never mentions baseball to her.
So I ask my mom, “why dad didn’t do baseball with me.” She guessed maybe he didn’t want to be involved with the other fathers. She was sure it didn’t have anything to do with me.

So how was I going heal from a 36 year old hurt, as far as I could tell, was due to dad trying to avoid some kind of social interaction with other men

I thought, perhaps it is too late to try to heal by talking with dad but maybe I could help my son, who then was 16 and a sophomore in high school.

I had made many mistakes raising my son especially in his early life as my brain wasn’t all that clear even after I was sober. Maybe I can make sure my son didn’t find himself at 40 years old crying in a counseling session and wondering what his dad had done to him.

So every chance I had I told my son how much I loved him, how proud of him I was and that he could depend on his dad. I began wondering if he was getting it. Was he hearing me?

That’s when it happened. I heard in my mind all those phone conversations between me and my dad and what I heard wasn’t conversations about baseball. What I heard at that moment was the other part where for ten years my dad was saying,"Son I'm so proud of what you’ve been doing with your life… Son, if I can help you with anything just let me know… Son I love you…"

My son wasn't the one not hearing. It was my dad’s son who wasn’t hearing. I was the one with the hardened heart

Thirty six years ago a six-year- old boy made up his mind he was never going to hear his father’s praise, would never be able to depend on his dad and was determined he wasn’t going to feel his dad’s love.

The healing I neeeded wasn’t from what my father did. The healing I needed was from what I did to myself-that little boy-a life time ago… I made a decision back then, and the result was that I stopped hearing. Even cold sober for ten years and in my right mind I was deaf to what my father had been saying.
Finally I heard all those times my father said, "I'm proud of you, I'm there for you , I love you."

I cried for three days.

I was crying with joy because I heard him…and I was crying with some sorrow that I hadn’t heard him for so long… and all these emotions were flooding through me… and I felt elated.
I called my wife to tell her and left her a message and I called my counselor and I think he was crying with me as I explained my revelation.

He asked, "did you call your dad?"

"Oh no…no… I couldn’t possibly call dad"

“You know you have to,” he advised.

It took me three hours to get myself together to make that call to dad. I didn't get into the baseball thing with him. Between sobs I just explained that I now understand and know thathe loves me, he's proud of me and would do anything for me.

After a few days I thought, wow, if I cut off my ability to hear my earthly father like that- how much have I cut off from hearing my heavenly father? How about you, been hearing God lately?

It has been a little over five years now. Dad still calls in his numbers twice a week, I never hear him mention baseball anymore. You know, I'm not really sure if dad even likes baseball

Patrick Smith
Sarasota, Fl.