My Favorite Christmas
One year for Christmas, I wrote my Dad a poem about him being my baseball coach. I cut a baseball in half and placed it in a shadow box and printed the poem out and placed it on the felt backing. The excitement on my face, was barely contained as he ripped open the paper that hid my favorite gift. The wrapping paper, glided to the floor and his eyes gazed upon the words that I had carefully written for him. In this moment, he looked at me, with tears in his eyes. My heart was full. “Merry Christmas, Dad.”
My Favorite Gift
You probably assumed that this was my favorite gift to give to my Dad. It definitely was that, however, my favorite gift was what my Dad gave to me to pass on to my kids. The gift of being a good coach on and off the field. Even though he is not here with me in the physical sense, the closest my kids will come to knowing my Dad is through me. Thanks Dad, for being my coach and guiding me to be a father to my kids. I wish you were here to show them how awesome you would be as a their PawPaw.
Giving the Gift to my Kids
That day is here, I have a son and a daughter and while I haven’t been their coach in sports, I do coach them in many other areas. Do I fail? Absolutely. Am I perfect? Not by long shot. This poem is a reminder to be a good coach to my kids and hopefully someday they will feel the same way about me as I did with my Dad.
The Baseball Poem
There is one favorite memory I will always cherish from my childhood. It is that age-old game of baseball. I remember stepping out on to the field for the first time in my new uniform and those brand new cleats that I had to have. The grass always seemed to be freshly cut even though most of the time it wasn’t. The dirt on a field always seemed to be placed just right for a great game of ball. The lines of chalk neatly outlining the diamond were ready for the first runner to follow. I loved the smell of baseball. It is one of the smells that cannot be described; you just know that smell. I played ball from t-ball through junior high school. I learned all there was to learn about the game from my Dad. From rally caps to game day losses, my memory of this game will never be forgotten. I will remember this game especially because I could look in from the field and see my Dad in the dugout. My Dad was the head coach of our team. He treated everyone fairly including me, his son. He was a great coach. He brought our team to victory one season. We had an undefeated season and went on to play in the tournament. But as long as my Dad was the coach every season was a victory. My Dad taught me to always give the game my best effort and win or lose; the game would give me back all I gave and more. My Dad was right. My Dad, my head baseball coach is my hero. It is not because he was my coach but because he is my Dad. I hope and pray I can be as good a dad and head coach to my son.
Love,
Your Son the Left Fielder
To learn more about the kind of person my Dad was read the blog posts posted below.
The best coaches don’t do it for the money, they do it to ensure their players receive the same values and experience sports once gave them.
Anonymous
The name on the front of the jersey represents who you play for, the name on the back of the jersey represents who raised you. Do them both justice.
Anonymous
