It started when I was seven years old.
My parents signed me up for baseball. My mom told me the first
gathering where I would meet my team was at my house. "Who's
our coach?" I kept asking, she just smiled in return. As the
other boys arrived and sat down, my Dad, always the surpriser,
smiled at me and introduced himself as Coach Dick. My Dad and I
did not have huge amounts of time together so this was milestone
in our relationship. That first year was my best. I was voted
Most Valuable Player by the team and batted nearly 750 (3 out of
4 hits per game) for the year. I fell in love with the game of
baseball. Unfortunately, my passion slowly ebbed away for the
next five years as I wasn't nearly the celebrated player of my
rookie year, not being able to hit the faster more accurate
pitching. I really think it was because my dad went back to late
evenings and was unable to coach. Six years ago my friend Rich MacLennan asked if my eldest son, Richard, would be playing ball. I hadn't even thought about it. One hears about how young fathers fantasize about playing catch with their sons, frankly, it never occurred to me. "Sure," I said, "maybe I'll even help you coach." Here I was, twenty years later, back on the diamond, assisting a seasoned coach. We lost almost every game. Our team was young and inexperienced, not to mention a half a dozen coaching errors that never make it into the scorebook. But I was back. The next year we took the mid-season tournament. The third year I coached my own team and loved every minute of it. The next two years saw us produce two championship teams in our division. There are memories that will stay with me a life time, like the Vernon Championship Game where our boys fought back from a 3-6 deficit to win in the last inning by one run, or the time when the boys and parents tearfully thanked me for my efforts.
This year I took on the task of bringing my next son into the greatest game ever invented. He will continue in his brother's footsteps and beyond - he's the natural athlete in the family. And a family affair it was this year. At any given night you could find us at the ball field. Christine would be on the sidelines keeping score and chatting with the moms. Richard coaching third base, that is, if he didn't have a game of his own that night, and yours truly on the mound trying desperately to offer up a hittable pitch to one of my kids before the umpire said, "sorry son your out of pitches." It was a challenge this year to coach at the lower level Tadpoles. The coach pitches and its not nearly as competitive. Nevertheless, as I rally the nine boys and two girls before each game there is hope and excitement in each of their eyes. I will remember the five single parent kids the most. For a few of them I'm the only encouraging male influence in their life. One boy in particular this year has been brought to every game by a loving grandfather, his "parents" haven't made a single game. He started the season with an attitude that made you hope he didn't come to practice. He has become our best well rounded player on the field and has become a joy to coach.
I was thinking and praying about my involvement this year, "Lord, why am I doing this, am I wasting my time?" He gently reminded me about the many kids that I would never have known had it not been for baseball and how I am very much at ease at the ball field. He also reminded me of the other coaches and dads I have had occasion to pray with and witness too. And, of the young man that may approach me in twenty years and say, "hey weren't you my coach? Thanks for being there for me." The Lord impressed upon me that of all the sports - He loves baseball the most! Use what you love to reach those you want to love.