To My Son

I have watched you grow from a little tadpole into the strapping, 6'2" man I see shaving in the bathroom every morning, and I am so proud of you. I wish I had been a rich man, and that I could save you all the hard work you have ahead of you over these coming years, but that is not within my power. At least I hope that I have given you the strength to do what is necessary to build yourself a happy and contented life. That means a lot, believe me.

And you will always have me behind you. Yeah, I know that someday I am going to not be here -- much as I would like to believe it isn't so! I feel GREAT physically right now, am playing some of the best baseball of my life, and hope to go on like this forever. But one day you are going to look and not find me there.

I WILL be there, though. I'll be there every time you watch the Phillies play. I'll be there every time you see the Red Sox play, every time the #25 appears before you.

I'll be there when you take the mound or stand in the batter's box, whispering in your ear, and every time you wear a Washington Township Senators jersey, which I sure hope you will do someday. Whenever you pull that uniform on, you'll know I'm there.

I'll be there on your future trips to Fenway Park, to the Little League Field to watch your sons and daughters play, to anywhere you hear the crack of bat upon ball, of ball upon glove. Just listen for my voice traveling softly on the summer breeze to say "hiya, son!" I promise with all my heart that you will hear me.

Baseball is the gift I have given you, and actually, it is the one you have given me in return, because my fondest moments spent with you were mostly in or around the game.

Godspeed, my sweet boy. Keep some love and kindness in your heart always.