Some of my earliest memories of my childhood included watching my grandfather listen to baseball games, and hearing him talk about it. So, now, as the season is here again, I’m inextricably drawn back to some of those memories of him. I looked up to him.
On days like this, I’m reminded that he really is gone — that he’s been gone a long time. And, my son will never know him, as an influence on who I have become.
It’s bittersweet, not only because of the familial relationship, but also because it was a close relationship. Yes, most of us love our grandparents, more or less. And, I think it’s usually a goal of us (as parents) to encourage our children to know (and love) our parents. I’ve always been of the opinion that we should never have a shortage of those we love and care about around us. Family is important.
So, as baseballs fly, and my son is once again gathering all his gear together for T-Ball, I wish my grandfather was standing behind that fence over there, watching. I wish he could see the man I’ve become–the father. And, I wish he could know my son too.
Time has passed, and my son will never know my grandfather, nor will he know my father. So, I tell him about my family, my memories. I share pictures.