Happy Father's Day all. I know I just wrote about my Dad yesterday but he's a pretty special guy, so he gets two days in a row.
Today's prompt: summer time with Dad.
I don't remember exactly when or why I became totally obsessed with baseball during my childhood. Looking back now it seems like I always had a baseball glove in one hand, a baseball bat in the other, and... jeez, how did I carry the baseball? In the glove, I hope. Anyway.
We had a massive field out behind our house in Ontario and I could not possibly tell you how many times I dragged Dad out there. I'd give him the bat and ball and go racing out into the field. He'd toss it up and hit fly ball after fly ball to me as I raced left and right, backward and forward to catch them.
Always an encouraging word when I missed it. Always heartfelt praise when I snagged a tough one. So many hot summer afternoons were spent out there, and just as many summer evenings. Until the sky grew too dark to spot the ball in the sky as it hurtled down towards me. Then only a couple more and I'd agree to go back in.
Dad was a ridiculously good sport about it. I'm sure he had other things that needed to be done but I honestly can't remember him ever saying no. I'm sure he must have, but if he did the incredible number of times he agreed to come play ball with me make those one or two, "Not today Marc"'s that I have forgotten seem... well, quite forgettable.
So thanks Dad for always being so willing to step up to the plate for me. I bet you would have made a great ball player if you had ever pursued it. But I know you make a great Dad.