My Dad And Me And Baseball
I did the following for the blog Everyday Life. Ashley Thompson does the blog, and it is about her life as a baseball wife. Ashley is married to Australian Rich Thompson, a pitcher in the Los Angeles Angels system. Rich has appeared in six games for the Angels this season. You can find Ashley’s blog at: ashthompson.blogspot.com
My Dad And Me And Baseball
My 84 year old father has been hospitalized at the Creighton Medical Center in Omaha since May 13th. Over a 15 day span in mid-May he had four surgeries totaling 35 hours, all related to a brain tumor. No, most 84 year olds do not undergo such surgeries. Then again, my dad is not most 84 year olds.
To call my dad’s surgery risky is almost to make light of it. His only options were the surgery or a painful death, so he chose the risky surgery. During much of the 34 days my dad spent in the ICU at Creighton Medical Center he was unresponsive to voice or touch. He has been fighting chest and bladder infections common to ICU patients, and previous ailments make it very difficult to treat my dad. One step forward and two steps backward is how his recovery has seemed, not the proverbial two steps forward, one step backward.
Still, twice when matters seemed most grim, he has opened his eyes and not only responded to commands, but would track movements and voices. It is almost as if he was telling us “I am still here. This has been a terrible ordeal and I have to heal on my own terms, but don’t give up on me because I am not giving up.” Doctors and nurses have marveled at his will to live, his strength, and his fight. If they had only known him as long as I have, they would not marvel at all.
My earliest childhood memories of my dad are all about baseball. Back in the early ‘50’s town team baseball was still a source of pride for many communities. Semi-pro baseball was played at a very high level. Many town team players once had the potential for playing professionally-the late 40’s and early 50’s saw minor leagues at a peak-but for some their prime playing years were spent in Europe or on some Pacific island serving our country in World War II. In the 50’s they were a step slower, but like the wily veterans they were, they used their experience to gain an edge. There were some fantastic games, and my dad started taking me to the ball park when I was old enough to walk. Maybe before.
Sometimes we would sit in the stands at Moller Field in Fremont, other times we would be one of the cars that lined left and right fields, or that sat just off South Main Street which ran behind the left field fence. To me, Moller Field seemed like a big league ball park might have seemed to a city boy. And the players who played there were my earliest heroes. My dad seemed to know all the players, which made him very important in my eyes, and an occasional pat on the back from one of the players made me feel pretty special too.
Omaha is only 35 miles from Fremont, and most of my life they have had AAA baseball-Cardinals, Dodgers, and now the Royals top farm teams. Today will mark the 36th day out of the last 36 days that I have traveled to Omaha. We used to go maybe 6 times a year to the big city. Omaha seems much closer now. Anyway, one of the trips was to Omaha’s Municipal Stadium to watch a ball game. It looked a lot different in the late 50’s and early 60’s. The stadium is now known as Rosenblatt Stadium, and if you are a baseball fan, you have probably been watching the College World Series played there this week.
The best baseball memory I have of my dad is that he coached me when I played YMCA Pee Wee League baseball, or when I was 8-10 years old. He also coached my two younger brothers. The first year I played we were terrible. I want to say we did win a game, but that might be a foggy memory at work as it was 50 years ago. The second year we were better, winning more than we lost. When I was 10 years old we won the championship. In fact, my dad coached from 1959-1968, and anyone who played with him for three years won at least one championship. We learned to play the game and we learned to love the game. I don’t think you can ask for more from a coach.
My dad’s recovery is shaky. We simply don’t know what will happen or when. He sleeps much of the time, though I think he can still hear us. I like to think he is dreaming of the good things that happened in his life. If he is, I am sure that he is standing in the third base coaches box waving a youngster home for the go ahead run in a big game- right now all the games on big ones for my dad.
As my wife and I were driving to Omaha on Monday, Neil Young’s “Old Man” played on the radio. “Old man take a look at yourself, I’m a lot like you were.” I’m a lot like you were dad, and darned proud of it.
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