Our Last Opening Day

I have never cheered for my son from the bleachers. I have never had the time to talk to parents during a game about his successes or failures. I have never even watched a single inning of his baseball games from the stands.

For I am his coach.

And this week, the weight of knowing that will soon end came crashing down.

For nearly 12 years, and two seasons every year, I have been my son Tommy’s coach at every level of baseball. But this weekend was different.

It was our last Opening Day.

Tommy could eventually choose to play travel ball. Maybe he will try out for the JV or high school team down the road. But one thing is certain: I will no longer be in the dugout with him.

My love for baseball only grew with every passing pitch I was there to share with him. Through the great successes and the many failures, Tommy and baseball gave me everything I could have ever wanted.

And now, it has to end.

They say you sometimes don’t appreciate the times you are having while you are in them. But I knew. I knew every game that this was something special, and I wanted to get every drop of goodness out of it.

It began in tee-ball, the crowd of kids all diving after the ball, some running to the wrong bases, but all smiles. I'll always remember telling the kids not to play in the dirt during the games. Then it grew into so much more. From Tommy’s game-tying playoff hit in machine pitch to our first championship together last fall, this game — his game — has given me some of the greatest memories I will ever have. In fact, I was asked recently what my favorite sports memory was and I described hugging my son as we walked off as champs.

Every father wants the memory of playing catch with his son. I had so much more than that. I was there for every swing, every ground ball, every throw and every emotion.

I remember him taking the field bloody after a grounder popped up and caught him in the lip. I died a little inside the first time he was hit by a pitch, only to watch him get up, dust himself off and walk to first base. And I’m not sure there is a feeling in the world quite like waving your son home as he rounds third and scores a run.

My son isn’t the most talented player. Neither was I. But he is the perfect ballplayer.

He shows up on time, is respectful and, most of all, loves the game. I feel like that gets lost with so many of today’s “travel ball is the only thing that matters” athletes. This was always about more than baseball. My little boy is becoming a man, and one I couldn't be prouder of. Not because he can hit a ton or run like the wind, but because of the man he is becoming.

Together, Tommy and I were able to just love the game for the game itself. I just hope I was a good enough coach for him to love the game after this is done.

This was our last Opening Day together as player and coach.

That sentence was even hard for me to write.

Sure, watching your children grow older will always sting. But this feels like something more.

I stop and think and sadness fills me that the next time I hear him say, “Hey Dad, wanna have a catch?” it will only be in the backyard.

No teaching. No coaching. No correcting.

Just a catch.

Well, after thinking about it, that’s not so bad after all, is it?