BASEBALL AND MATH

I generally do not give Michael Father’s Day gifts. I also do not push the Cabbage to do this. I might ask them what they plan to do for their Dad, but I do not drag them to the store to purchase a last minute “World’s Best Dad” mug. I respect that Michael is a father, but he’s not the father of any of my children. Father’s Day is not my responsibility. Those responsibility belong to the two people who decided to have the Cabbage. Though occasionally, I have ended up getting Michael a gift because I just saw something that I knew he would like and it just so happens to be near Father’s Day. Like one year, I got Michael a pastrami sandwich kit from Katz’s Deli. There was nothing in this kit that I could eat except the pickles. So it is not like he could really share, but I didn’t get it for him because I wanted the pastrami sandwich. I knew that Katz’s Deli was the best pastrami he’d ever tasted in his life and that being able to eat that sandwich again would bring him joy.

One of the few times I was in my car last month, I heard an advertisement about a lecture at the Linda Hall Library about the analytics of baseball. There would be a panel discussion of Big Data and statistics and how all of this changed the game of baseball. I think. I don’t really know. I signed us up for the free event. When the time came, we rode our bikes to Tiki Taco for dinner and then over to the library. I had never been inside Linda Hall Library. It’s a place I have wanted to visit for some time and I was not disappointed. It’s filled with old books and art deco light fixtures. It is the library you want to live inside. Michael and I got to the event early so I could wander around, but also do some people watching. It was kind of a predicable audience. Lots of older, white-haired gentlemen wearing ‘dress’ shorts and white socks pulled up their calves. One guy was wearing a trash panda t-shirt that Michael coveted. He looked it up and showed it to me. I told him he should order that for himself for Father’s Day because I never prompt the Cabbage to do anything. He made a noise of approval and I looked over just in time to see him write a gift note to himself. “To the best dad in the whole world.” We laughed and laughed about it.

Then we settled in for a talk about baseball and statistics and it was the most boring thing I’ve every had to sit through. And I’m a scientist! I had no idea what anyone was talking about or who anyone was talking about. This is what I heard: “Blah blah blah. Baseball. Pitcher. Blah blah War. Blah blah blah. That guy on third should have run to home. Blah blah blah.” All of this is fine. I am not a sportsball kind of person and I knew going in that I would not be the slightest bit interested in what was being said. I knew this because this was a Katz’s Deli pastrami sandwich kind of gift. While I was I hearing all the blah blah blah, I was paying attention to the joy that was happening on Michael’s face. When the moderator pointed out someone from the Royals in the audience, Michael whispered “I thought I recognized that guy!”. When the moderator introduced the first person for the panel discussion, some guy who built some baseball statics website, Michael shimmied in his seat and then turned to me to whisper “That’s a good website!” He laughed at the occasional baseball related joke and nodded his head in agreement to something a panelist said. He was in to it.

It was adorable.

When I told Michael and I had gotten tickets to this, he said “You’re going to be so bored.” I think he was thrown off by me getting tickets to something that would only interest him. I waived away his concerns about my interest level by saying that I was sure there would be some interesting aspects. I’m not going to lie, I found the panel discussion to be mind numbingly boring, but the people watching was great fun. The best part of all was seeing how much Michael enjoyed the program. That’s worth sitting through a panel discussion of “blah blah blah, baseball”.

THANKFUL FRIDAY

Michael once asked me what camping trips were like with my dad. When I pull up every camping trip from my memory bank, I see Dad puttering. He was always messing with this or that on the camper or the truck. On our annual fishing trips to Colorado, he’d have us up before the sun. He would be loading the truck up with fishing supplies while we rubbed sleep from our eyes and ate breakfast. After half a day of fishing, we’d come back to the campsite where Dad would unload the truck and start cleaning fish. Then he would get his little grill set up. He would cook fish while Mom would make side dishes. When dinner was finished, we would all help with cleanup, then sit down at the table where we would spend the last of the daylight prepping lines and lures for the next morning. I think I have one photo of Dad sitting in his camp chair enjoying the campfire. It was taken during the summer of my Senior year. Dad made a big deal about that trip and about going to a campground called Fun Valley. The two of us joked the whole time about how fun it was at Fun Valley. He painted ‘Fun Valley’ on one of our campfire logs and gave it to me at the end of that trip.

A few weekends ago, Michael and I went down to my brother’s cabin and set up our camper that we had parked there for the winter. My brother and sister-in-law joined us a day later and we got to spend the weekend together hanging around their cabin. My brother would sit down for a few minutes and then he would be up, puttering around, digging through their shed or moving stone pavers. They had spent the whole week there recently as their vacation and Katrina told me that as soon as my brother got home and sat down in his chair, he fell asleep. I see so much of Dad in my brother Randy. Dad was rarely still. The only times you would see him sitting still would be in the evenings. That is when he would sit down in his worn-out recliner and promptly fall asleep while reading the paper. Unfortunately, after he retired and started up his peanut roasting business, evenings were spent roasting peanuts for the next day. He would get a batch going in his roaster in the garage and then come inside, sit down in his recliner and fall asleep. Dad burned many a batch of peanuts.

Because of our age difference, Randy has often taken on duel rolls of big brother and father figure. I guess that is why I always try to send him something for Father’s Day. Even though I give him a hard time for his choice of ‘news’, he’s still the man in my life that I look up to. He’s still the man in my life who I know will always be there for me. I miss Dad and his ridiculous dad jokes and his constant puttering about. Randy may not have the ridiculous dad jokes, but he’s got the puttering part down. When I see Randy in puttering action, I smile because I see our Dad and then I’ll see Randy do something that is completely and totally Randy.

In that moment, I’ll think to myself how lucky I have been to have them both and how lucky I am to still have my big brother.

FATHERS' DAY

Happy Father's Day

"Happy Father's Day"

Sunday morning, I sat on the couch watching the Father's Day episode of CBS Sunday Morning I had in the DVR because this week's episode seemed to be all re-run stories. Steve Hartman was doing a story about moving his dad out of the family home. It was right around this time when Michael wandered out of his room. He looked at the TV and then asked if there were any good stories on today. I looked at him wide eyed and attempted to squeak out something about not being able to talk and then a sob bubbled up and out. I dissolved into a puddle of tears, leaving Michael standing there with a what-just-happened look on his face. I pulled myself together quickly, but it would be hours and hours before I could tell him about Steve Hartman talking to his dad about the house he had built for them all those years ago and going through all the old memories that house contained, deciding what to keep and what to throw away. 

I didn't do a Fathers' Day post here like I did for Mothers' Day. Mostly the reason I didn't write then was because I was still on vacation. I conveniently used it as an excuse to ignore the day. I'd given Michael his gift last month. His bicycle needed a new wheel and seat and I figured the sooner those things got replaced the better. Riding his bicycle is his yoga. I wished Michael a Happy Fathers's Day that morning and then went on with my day trying not to be bitter about not being able to call my dad and wish him a Happy Fathers' Day too. Dad will be gone a full year in August, though more than that really if you consider how the disease took his mind. Fathers' Day is hard now just like birthdays and anniversaries. There's a part of me that scrolled facebook on that day feeling pitiful as I looked at everyone's postings of pictures with their dads. It's easy to become bitter and begrudge others' happiness, so I looked away. Really. I'm glad you can still celebrate Fathers' Day with your dad or at least give him a call and send him a tie. 

This is what I would have told my dad on Fathers' Day this year. After years and years, my whole life really, of hearing about boiled peanuts and seeing them in every convenient store during every visit to Mississippi, I have finally tried one. Michael kept seeing them at every gas station we stopped in starting around Memphis. He'd never heard of them and kept asking me about them. I told Michael that I'd never tried one, that the idea of peeling open a soggy peanut disturbed me. Dad, I told Michael about all the times people asked you if you sold boiled peanuts and how you would make a face before politely saying "no". I told Michael that you had always warned me against them, but curiosity got the best of Michael which resulted in all three of us trying our first boiled peanut. And Dad? They are awful. The worst. Weeks later and I still have the memory of the horrid taste in my mouth. You were right to warn me. You were right to convince me that roasted peanuts are far more superior than boiled ones. Even when I was trying it, I knew you were right, but I was setting an example for a four year old who has a hard time trying new things. I have regrets for letting her try it, but it was her idea. Once she saw Michael trying one, she wanted one too. So there. 

Dad, you were right about boiled peanuts. Also...I miss you.