How an Avenger saved my life

Baseball season has started. The Cardinals lost their opener. Rob and I talked about it today and I was reminded how much baseball means to both of us.

Team: The Avengers

Year: 1996

City: St. Louis

Situation: Job turmoil, my new "boss" is nuts....and I may be next.

One of the strangest job situations i've ever had was one where my so called boss was someone I had kept from getting a job early in his career. His dream was to work for our firm, I and others realized the was out of his league and blocked him from being hired by the company. Ten years later, at another firm, he's my boss. The lack of understanding of our business had grown expotentially and he proceeded down a path that dismantled the company.

The stress of this was something. I won't go into the details but it still bugs me more than ten years later that I didn't do more to stop this. But it wasn't all bad and there were opportunities to impact bad decisions and make them less bad, or in some cases actually good ones. But there were days in 96, 97, 98 when I just couldn't stand the thought of going into work one more day.

It was in these days that a kid, a glove, a bat and a ball kept my life in focus. During these years Rob lived for baseball. Glory days as Springsteen would call it. There are great things in life and being a really good ball player on a really good team when you're ten years old is near the top of the list. He made some mistakes but had more than his share of game winning hits and magical plays at the plate. In the spring, fall and summer our days often came to a close out in the expansive field in our back yard, playing pitch. Sometimes for only twenty minutes, other times for an hour.

On particularly tough days at work I eased my mind by thinking about what I had to look forward to when I got home. "In just six hours I'll be in the back yard hitting flies to Rob", or "in just 2 hours and 27 minutes, we'll be playing catch". Crazy mind game, but a little trick that help me get past the next conference call, the next meaningless report submission, the next lost client account.

It wasn't always planned. Sometimes I'd come home, change clothes, plop down on the couch, grab the remote and get ready for a snooze. Not a thought of going outside. Then came, "Hey, Dad, you wanna play catch", and I'd be out of the house, down the hill and in the common ground shared with our neighbors.

There was something about those hours playing with my son that helped me put everything into perspective. Sure things were tough, but so was I. My son, a few yards away, is not worried about the markets. He's waiting for the next toss from his dad and is oblivious to all the grownup stuff swirling around in my life. This is how it should be.

While tossing the ball I'd look up the hill to our house and know that inside was a mom fixing supper and two daughters. Often they joined us, altogther or individually, glove or bat in tow. Rachel held the family record of 200+ tosses without a miss. She was every bit as beautiful and glorious on the field as he was. Caroline toddled around and did her best to catch a ball when not distracted by something much more imporant, such as a butterly or lightning bug.

As the sun set we climbed the hill to head back inside. The climb meant a return to responsibility and each step seemed a reminder as your pulled yourself up, with armfuls of bats and balls. Inside that house there was homework to be finished, spelling tests to drill for, baths and stories before bedtime. In the field there was escape and a few precious moments when nothing else in the world mattered.

To my son, it was the end of another day and a few hours playing with Dad. To Dad, it was much needed relief and the knowledge that no matter what the next day brings, I can count on a kid and a glove waiting for me when the working day draws to a close. I've always said our children each came into our lives when we needed them most. In 1996 I needed a ten year old.