A Bedtime Story: The Foul Ball That Taught Me Manhood

A true story to make you laugh. On a hot June afternoon, I take my 3-year-old son, Elliot, to Dodger Stadium with the hope that it be a significant experience of male bonding. My attempt to "man up" leaves me more human instead.

Transcript

Around the time my son,

Elliot,

Turned three,

I began to consider my fatherly duty to teach him how to be a man.

Actually,

Truth is,

His mother said,

Hey,

It's time to teach Elliot how to be a man.

I had only a vague notion of what being a man meant,

Much less how to teach it.

Guys watching sports together was a bonding ritual I'd seen,

So I thought,

Well,

Maybe I'll start there.

Now,

At that age,

Elliot had a beautiful kind of,

What are we going to do now,

Enthusiasm about everything.

And when I told him that we were going to a Dodgers-Minnesota Twins baseball game,

Just us men,

No mom,

No sister,

He beamed.

We arrived at Dodger Stadium on a warm June afternoon.

Elliot was light enough to carry in my arms as we became part of the crowd,

Moving through the turnstiles.

I loved watching him take in all the sensations,

The crush of the crowd,

The crusty old men barking,

The rich blend of food smells,

The echoing voice of the game announcer over the PA system,

And that spectacular moment when you see the field for the first time,

The deep,

Saturated green of the grass set against the reddish dirt of the infield,

The pure white bases and foul lines.

Our seats were on the third baseline,

About ten rows up from the field.

The left fielder was directly in front of us.

Slightly to our left,

Above the outfield bleachers,

Was a huge TV screen showing the game.

Elliot kept watching the screen,

So every so often I would remind him that home plate was where the action was,

Down there in the distance to our right.

By the fifth inning,

We'd indulged in every variety of junk food possible,

I think.

We'd had popcorn,

Hot dogs,

Ice cream,

Peanuts,

And then as the temperature got hotter,

A big Coke filled to the brim with crushed ice.

And it seemed like we had satisfied the requirements of male bonding.

Elliot was losing interest,

And I was just about to suggest we leave.

And that's when it happened.

The Minnesota Twin Spitter smacked a high fly ball into left field.

The higher the ball went,

The more unmistakable was the curve of its path.

It was going foul,

And it was going to land in our vicinity.

All of the fans in our section stood up like a pack of predators focusing on prey.

I stood.

I could feel Elliot clutching my right leg.

We all watched as the baseball reached its peak,

And then began a slow trajectory back to earth.

Gravity pulled on the tiny speck.

It picked up speed and grew larger.

And the reality flashed in my mind like a scoreboard sign.

That ball was going to come right to me.

And that's when time slowed down.

I could feel bodily contact with the guys around me,

But it didn't matter.

I was in the perfect place to catch that ball,

And no one was going to interfere with that.

And I let myself indulge in the possibility,

No,

The certainty of catching that baseball.

With my young son and 14,

512 fans in the stadium watching,

I was about to man up,

Fend off the other dads,

Rise above the pack,

And claim the prize.

Yeah,

Baby,

That baseball is going to adorn a shelf in Elliot's room for years to come.

A symbol of masculinity and the extraordinary relationship he has with his dad.

Yeah,

He's going to brag to his friends.

My dad caught that baseball at the first game we ever went to.

And wide-eyed with envy,

All those boys will say,

How cool.

Oh,

We're going to have to get one of the Dodgers to autograph the ball after the game.

And then,

And then we definitely will have to get one of those glass boxes to hold it in.

In the middle of all of this heroic imagining,

I had a thought that didn't quite fit in.

And it was,

Hmm,

I really should have brought my mitt.

Uh-oh.

And with that thought,

My slow-motion fantasy world was suddenly and rudely interrupted by two sensations of intense pain.

The first was a shocking compression of my left thumb,

Beginning at the tip and extending downward into my wrist.

The second came milliseconds later,

A dull explosion on the upper part of my forehead,

Where my hairline used to be.

I saw stars.

The high-frequency part of my hearing vanished as a muted cacophony of voices around me shared my pain.

Oh,

Oh.

And though I can't swear to it,

I thought I heard a boy somewhere joyously exclaim,

My dad got it.

My dad got the baseball.

My senses began to return.

And the first rational thought I had was,

Oh,

Shit,

Is this game being televised?

Did a quarter of a million people just watch me try to catch a foul ball only to have it carom off the tip of my thumb and smack me in the head?

My next thought was,

Elliot,

Oh,

God,

Did Elliot see what just happened?

Have I lost all credibility in his eyes forever?

I sank into my seat.

This brought me eye to eye with my little boy.

His face was filled with the utter joy of something really exciting having just happened,

About which he had no understanding.

Thank God.

Now,

At this point,

My thumb sent me a memo requesting a meeting.

It was swelling rapidly,

So I plunged it into the icy Coke,

Too embarrassed to make eye contact with any of the guys around me.

Instead,

I focused on Elliot,

And his sweet,

Adoring smile anchored me.

Moments later,

The Twins catcher hit a double into right field.

As he rounded first,

I pulled my thumb out of the Coke,

Grabbed Elliot,

And,

Eyes down,

Made a beeline for the exit.

Elliot will be 29 years old this May 7th.

We've both matured since that afternoon in Dodger Stadium.

Over the years,

I continued to drop the occasional pop fly.

But there came a point after which I stopped trying to hide it.

Instead,

I began to share my mistakes with Elliot,

To talk about what I'd learned,

What I was feeling,

And what I was doing differently as a result.

Last Christmas,

Elliot gave me a beautiful card,

And this is what he wrote in it.

He said,

Dad,

You're my hero.

You make me want to strive to be the best man I can be.

I've so enjoyed watching you grow in new directions over the past couple years.

Thanks for making me who I am.

I love you to the ends of the earth,

Elliot.

And all I could say in response to Elliot was,

Thank you,

Elliot,

For helping me to understand that to be a man is to have the courage to look foolish and turn every so-called failure into an opportunity to be the best man I can be.

Oh,

And by the way,

I'm definitely going to get one of those glass boxes and put his Christmas card in it,

Put it on the shelf,

You know,

Show my friends.

Thank you for listening.

If you've enjoyed this,

You might check out my course here on Insight Timer called Finding Serenity,

A journey into the heart of change,

Acceptance,

Courage,

And wisdom,

Where I share more of my stories about careening toward enlightenment.

I'll see you there.