Dropping a fly ball may not be a big deal to most people, but if you’re thirteen years old and have aspirations of the big leagues, it’s a big deal. I was halfway home when my dad found me. He didn’t say a word.  Just pulled over to the side of the road, and opened the passenger door. We both knew the world had come to an end.

I went straight to my room.  He went straight to the kitchen. Presently he appeared in front of me with cookies and milk.  And somewhere in the dunking of the cookies, I began to realize that life and my father’s love would go on. If you love the guy who drops the ball, then you really love him. My skill as a baseball player didn’t improve, but my confidence in Dad’s love did. He never said a word. He showed up. He listened up.

From Dad Time