14

Be A Little Better

My dad was a hard ass growing up. If there was a Saturday where I didn’t have a bunch of baseball or basketball games you can rest assured that I was doing some sort of yard work. I really didn’t like it. I wanted to go play football or basketball with my friends. I never understood why he was like this. I did find time to play basketball but it was always after he had me do some chores. He got my brother a lawn mower for his birthday in 7th grade.

He definitely did like sports, though, and was very involved. I was quite talented as a little kid when it came to sports. Baseball came very naturally to me and that excited my dad quite a bit. I can recall being a little kid and my dad pitching me wiffleballs in the living room. I smacked one off a window and I can remember my dad saying that we had to start playing outside. I have this vague memory of still being in diapers at the time.

I loved baseball so much but I would get very nervous during organized games for my first year or two. I would always make the A teams and my dad and I would always have big plans about how I would get a ton of hits and make great plays. This didn’t happen. I struggled quite a bit. I struck out a lot, made a lot of errors at third base, and got smacked around when I would pitch. This was difficult for my dad.

He just didn’t understand. It didn’t make any sense. I looked like the most talented kid during batting practice or when we would throw in the backyard but it wasn’t translating. Those car rides home after games were really bad. I would get yelled at a lot. This was not easy for me as a 7 year old.

Time went on and I got more comfortable playing in organized games. Eventually I started playing well and was one of the better players in my grade in both baseball and basketball. The bad car rides home would happen less and less but I still resented him for that.

It would spill over into other areas of my childhood and adolescence. I would go out and get drunk as a junior and senior in high school and I would go home and inevitably have a fight with my dad. The same thing would happen when I would smoke weed for the couple of years after. I didn’t understand why he wouldn’t just leave me alone. A lot of my friends were getting drunk or getting high and their parents would just leave them alone.

My dad had a very tough childhood. He grew up in a house with eight siblings. I don’t know if he’d agree but from the stories he tells me it sounds like he grew up pretty poor. I think him and his four brothers all slept in the same room for a portion of his childhood.

My dad’s dad fought in the battle of Okinawa and was injured 3 times. As one story goes, he was actually clipped in the ear by a bullet that spun around his helmet. This knocked him out and drenched his uniform in blood. When they were cleaning up the dead bodies after the battle, someone picked up my grandpa and assumed he was dead. He woke up right as the soldier was picking him and almost made him shit his pants. In comparison to my dad’s childhood, it’s safe to say my grandpa’s wasn’t great either. He was getting shot at by Japanese soldiers as a 19 year old kid.

My grandpa would have breakdowns and spend large portions of my dad’s life in veterans’ hospitals. This was tough on my dad’s family considering there were 9 children in the house. My dad’s mom had a lot of work to do. She was a principal at a school while also raising 9 kids by herself. My dad did everything for himself. He rode his bike to school, he rode his bike to baseball games, and he rode his bike to church to be an altar boy on Sunday mornings. He did his own laundry, cleaned his own room, and ironed his own clothes. My dad’s dad did almost nothing for him but I’ve never heard him have any sort of resentment for him. My grandpa had a very tough life.

If anything I thought my dad was too involved with my life. He was at every game and would always be signing me up for extra practices. Part of me just wanted to be a kid. My dad had illustrious dreams of me playing in the Major Leagues. I was a good baseball player but nowhere near that good. I had a good season my senior year of high school but wasn’t the best player on my team. We had a lot of good players.

As I’ve gotten older I can definitely acknowledge that I wasn’t the easiest kid to raise. I was stubborn and headstrong. Very often I thought I knew best. Sometimes I did! I can also acknowledge that my dad made mistakes too, though. It’s incredible how much it has informed my coaching style. Every time you get after a player you got to pick him up and give him a pat on the back. With every criticism comes a compliment.

I’ve really come to appreciate the man my dad is. He’s 67 years old and he still gets up on Saturday’s and does work on the house all day. He had a heart attack around 20 years ago but he looks great today. I think he weighs less than I do now. Now that we’re both men (fuck that’s weird to say) I can have really enlightening conversations with him. They’re conversations that I really can’t have with anybody else.

He still gets on my nerves sometimes but the fact that I have my own place gives me the opportunity to get some space. I go home every Friday night to do my laundry and I leave every Saturday morning. My dad and I usually find some time to just sit down and talk during that time frame. It always makes me feel good when I do that and I usually learn something about him. He’s done a lot and been to a lot of places. I’ll have more stories about him going forward. I’m really lucky to have him as my dad.

My childhood wasn’t perfect but it was magnitudes better than my dad’s. I think it’s safe to say my dad would say the same about his life and my grandpa’s. I hope and pray that I find the right girl to settle down with and have some children. My child’s (hopefully children’s) life won’t be perfect but I hope I can make it a little better than mine.