Dear Dad

Dear Dad,
I just wanted to write you a thank you note for all you have given to and done for me over the years.

Thank you for putting the old baseball glove in my crib as a newborn, I have to believe that had something to do with my love of baseball and ability to play it.

Thank you for taking me to more Dodger games than I can remember. My oldest memory is from the game when Bill Buckner hit a big home run but it got called back because he used an illegal bat. I didn't really understand what was going on, I couldn't have been more than five or six years old at the time, but you explained it to me. I remember going to picture day on that hot summer day, getting there early, going down on the field, drinking a bunch of orange sodas, then throwing up all over the bleacher seats before the game even started. And then you taking me to the LAAC to cool down and go swimming, we never got to see the game, but I remember getting a sense of satisfaction out of the fact that the guy sitting next to us that had to deal with the stench was wearing a Giants cap. Guess I was kind of warped even as a little kid. I remember the drives to the game, talking and listening to Dodger Talk on KABC with Geoff Witcher, who you never really cared for because you said he was a homer, and so I never really liked him either. I remember finding the fat guy and getting our seats out in the right field bleachers, parking in our secret spot, and then trying to keep up with your adult strides as we made our way through the parking lot. I remember the excitement and wonder that always came when we caught that first glimpse of the outfield grass upon entering the stadium, seeing my beloved Dodgers warming up and taking batting practice, the Dodger Dogs, the orange sodas, the peanuts, those rock hard frozen chocolate malts with the flat little wooden spoons, getting a program and keeping score, putting on the jacket you always insisted I bring because it would get cold once the sun went down, the drive home hoping to beat the traffic, and looking forward to the next game.

I remember the numerous hours you spent with me at the school playing ball, playing catch, throwing me batting practice, hitting me grounders, taking out your pitching wedge and hitting golf balls while I went out into the outfield and tried to catch them in my glove without them going through the webbing.

I remember all my little league games that you came to, always taking off early from work, finding your spot out in the outfield because you didn't like sitting in the stands with the other parents, your Chevy Malibu parked out beyond the fence. I can't even tell you how much I loved seeing you there and knowing that I was trying to play well and make you proud of me. Basketball was my thing, and I think Pappap got the biggest kick out of seeing me play football, although you were at all those games as well, but I know you enjoyed watching me play baseball the most. I never realized just how much until I was sitting at Jake's little league games, watching my own boy play.

I remember how Mom and I would hide those little blue tabs under your pillow and how you would pretend to be all annoyed by it, I got such a kick out of that.

I remember you laying on the couch after dinner and a hard day's work, reading the LA Times and listening to the Dodger game on the radio, and having me get you another toothpick and three-quarters cup of coffee. To this day I love the newspaper, and I just realized this but I usually only fill my coffee cup up three-quarters of the way. You'll be happy to know that I read the papers online now, so I don't leave the newsprint marks on the walls by the light switches that you used to get on me about. And I never slam the front door, nor do I step on and break sprinkler heads.

I remember you holding me accountable when I screwed up, whether it be with the belt, or by grounding me. I didn't like it much at the time, but I appreciate that you cared about me enough to instill discipline in me. I remember you getting on me for doing yard work, half-assed as you called it, and teaching me that if a job was worth doing it was worth doing it the right way. I remember the night in Sacramento that you were pissed at Michael and me, most likely for good reason, and the waitress asking you if it had been a long day and you said it had been a long decade. That one hurt at the time, but you apologized for it later, and as a dad myself now, I know exactly how you felt. Sometimes raising kids can be a real pain in the ass, you feel like you're not appreciated and you aren't making any progress. But then you get over yourself and carry on because that's what you signed on to do, and you taught me that.

I remember how you always took care of your family, how you were always good to Mom, how you treated her with respect and love. I remember one time I swore in front of Mom and you got on me big time, I don't think I ever did that again. I remember one time driving home from a family function, I was in the other car with some of the relatives, and they started talking about you and what a great family guy you were, I can't describe how proud that made me feel that you were my pops.

I remember when you catching me ditching school in 8th grade, walking down the alley from Will Shilling's apartment, not a time I was glad to see your Chevy Malibu. I remember you deciding to send me to military school, a decision I hated at the time, but one I look back on and admire the balls it must have taken you to make such a hard decision. I remember the drives in on Monday morning, and how much I dreaded seeing the Cherry Street exit on the freeway, but how much I loved seeing you coming to pick me up on Friday afternoons. And mostly I remember that a few months later how you allowed me to convince you that I had grown up and gained from the experience, and that I should be able to go to Torrance High instead of back to military school. Looking back on it, that time meant alot to me, it did cause me to get over myself and grow up, and it made me appreciate what I had.

I remember you telling me that I could be anything I wanted to be in life, and that the only thing that would ever stop me in life was myself. You were right by the way.

You taught me how to be a man, how to be disciplined, how to put my family ahead of everything else, how to be a loyal and faithful husband, how to be a dedicated and loving father, how to stick with it no matter what, how to be a competitor and not to accept failure, how to always try to keep improving and getting better all the time. You gave me, and continue to give me love and support and guidance, while at the same time respecting my fierce independent streak and not preaching to me or telling me how to live my life. I've never told you this, but you are the one man in this world who truly gets me, and the one man whom I would rather spend time with than anyone else. So Happy Father's Day Pops, we'll be talking tonight like we do on most Sundays, chats I look forward to without fail. Thanks for the memories, and here's to those that are yet to be made.

Love,
Your son,
Mark