My son just turned a year old, but I'm already teaching him how to play catch. He's not bad. Sure, he just waves his arm wildly until the ball slips from his hand, but he's grasped the basic concept.
It may seem a meaningless exercise beyond motor development, but there is something about a simple game of catch that transcends words. You ever notice how quiet it usually is when two people are just tossing a ball back and forth? Part of it may be because they're too far apart to talk to each other in normal tones, but I think there is something conversational about the rhythmic act of catching and throwing, catching and throwing, catching and throwing, that makes words seem extraneous.
The movie Field of Dreams ends with Ray Kinsella playing catch with his father. Brief, albeit emotional, introductions are made after John Kinsella emerges from the corn, but then it's just father and son playing catch, healing old wounds without saying a word.
My dad and I communicated that way often in the front yard. I'm about as talkative as a rock, so our relationship didn't have much of a verbal foundation. When we did talk, it was usually about sports. We certainly talk more now, but then again, we're both adults.
But during my formative years, sports — and baseball in particular — largely shaped my world. I spent most of my free time playing something, organized or not. Playing catch with Dad, shooting hoops, going to Jackson Mets games, whatever it was, gave us moments both memorable and meaningful. In fact, most of my favorite childhood memories of Dad involve sports.
There was the time Dad tore a hamstring playing basketball in the driveway. As he limped toward the house, groaning in agony, all I could do was laugh. He laughed, too. But he didn't play again for a while.
Memorable more for how it helped cement our father-son bond were the times he'd be my catcher or my quarterback on the front lawn. He helped make me a better athlete not by instructing me, but simply by spending time with me, no matter how worn out he was from work or his seminary studies.
His example made it obvious to me that sports is fertile soil for the growth of father-son relationships. That opportunity is too often overlooked, and too often wasted. And at worst, sports can become a point of enmity when fathers push their sons too hard and disparage their every athletic endeavor.
Father-son relationships can literally be established or destroyed on the playing fields. Like anything God gives us, sports can be used to build up or tear down. Fathers who understand this can make a world of difference in the lives of their sons.
And the beautiful thing is, sports is something that father and son can share even after the son has a son of his own. For example, Dad and I are going to the All-Star Game in Detroit next month. I'll get to be close to a lot of great players.
But that isn't what'll make me feel like a kid again.
(Brad Locke is a sports journalist in Tupelo, Mississippi. This article courtesy of Agape Press).
