I am a New York Yankees fan because of him. Growing up in Binghamton I was able to watch their games on WPIX, and it was a rare day when my dad wouldn’t have the TV tuned to that channel so that we could watch them play. Whether they were good or bad – and until George took over the team they were mostly bad – we seldom missed watching them from the comfort of our living room.
My memories aren’t restricted to sitting in front of the TV with him though. There were a number of bus trips to Yankees stadium – excursions that my father booked for us that are forever among my most cherished days.
He taught me how to keep score, and while sitting in the stadium, I would be glued to my seat so that I wouldn’t miss a play in my scorecard. Afterward, during the three-plus hour ride home on the bus, I’d “review” the game by examining my scribbling in the program, and would tally up each player’s summary (the scorecards had columns off to the right where you could write the total number of AB, Runs, RBI, Hits, Errors, Stolen Bases for each batter, and the Innings, Runs, Earned Runs, Hits, Walks and strikeouts for each pitcher). I suppose it was an early indication then that I’d go on to be a Math major in college.
The best parts of my childhood aren’t only the ones that revolve around the Yankees. Actually, the best baseball memories I have of my dad are the ones that had nothing to do with the professional level of the sport.
Instead, the times that I most hold dear include Little League and playing catch in our backyard. My father rarely went to my practices for the local LL team, but I really don’t remember any games where he wasn’t in the stands. There may have been one or two – I’m sure there had to be scheduling conflicts along the way – but they have long since faded into forgotten moments.
He may not have realized it, but I always felt better in a game when I knew he was in the stands. I’m sure as a kid I never told him, but I really appreciated coming to the plate and seeing him sitting among other parents and fans. It made the game, and my performance, more meaningful.
We’d talk about each game afterwards and discuss how I played, and why certain things happened the way they did as the contest ran its course. I’d never show that I valued his advice. Heck, I was a cocky, know-it-all, kid and no one understood my game better than me. Truth is, I took each and every word of his to heart, and loved the fact that he cared.
It is the reason I have tried to be at every one of my kids’ sports events as they have grown up. In the event that I couldn’t be there, I’d make sure someone who was there would give me updates.
My dad taught me baseball, and his love for the Yankees and the sport found its way into my heart. More importantly, the example he set as the parent of kids who played sports will forever remain the standard to which I have aspired.
Thanks Dad, and Happy Birthday.
--Steve Skinner, BYB Guest Writer
Twitter: @oswegos1
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