Making Memories

I shared a love of baseball with my dad. We regularly watched or attended games and discussed all the greats--Babe Ruth, Yogi Berra, Whitey Ford, Roger Maris and, of course, Mickey Mantle. For several hours, every weekend during the spring and early summer, I alone had my dad's attention and company, and it is still one of my fondest memories. 

So, it was amazing that I grew up and became the Editor-in-Chief of the only family-authorized, collector's edition written about Mickey Mantle just after his death. In the process of producing that magazine, I resurrected springtime in the 50's and 60's, recalled cold cokes in dripping, green bottles, tasty hot dogs, the likes of which could only be bought at the stadium, and fresh-faced players who hadn't yet been tarnished by life.

I had the chance to interview some of the very stars I'd heard about all my life. It was unbelievably exciting to talk with Yogi, Whitey and the rest, but even more importantly, it was thrilling to tell my dad about those interviews.

How proud I was when the magazine hit the newsstands, and how proud he was that I had dedicated it to him. He never tired of talking about how I tracked down the players or their friends, or how I found the photos I included, or what it took to create the stories that I wrote about his favorite time in history and mine.

My dad is gone now, but those memories of my youth and the memories of what we shared as adults lives on. They are precious to me. 

My dad and I had gotten to know each other in a way that was very different from our parent/child relationship. From that relationship, I experienced his heart. From the other, I experienced his joy.

Finding out about and sharing in someone's joy takes commitment and time, but the dividends are invaluable. We often miss that chance with our aging parents, as we bustle through our own lives. It's a terrible mistake, though, because giving time to that relationship is often far more a gift to ourselves.