Well “The Boy” turned 18 this Sunday, and I, the number doesn’t matter much anymore, but I managed to make 45 on Monday. Five more years and I will accept being referred to as “middle aged”. We got to spend Jackson’s day together on the ball field, toiling through a double-header on a hot afternoon.

Jackson had a great day, hit the ball well, did a nice job in the field…enjoyed watching him having fun and playing some good ball. As for myself…I’m 45 now, and I played at an age appropriate level. For those of you scoring at home, I did not hit well, I managed to track a few fly balls down in the outfield, and struggled through four innings pitching. It is time to hand the ball over to “The Boy” for good. Besides, sweat logged Depends make it hard to beat out an infield single.

I told Jackson at the beginning of the season that if I started to embarrass myself out there to let me know. Jackson asked, “How will I know if you are embarrassing yourself?” I replied, “You will know, because I will be embarrassing you too.” I have no intentions of being some old fart novelty that shuffles around the dugout just to hear those ball players in their prime say, “he’s pretty good for his age”.

I don’t want or need to be “pretty good for my age”, my ego doesn’t need a condescending pat on the butt from some kid that will be able to get out of bed the morning after a game without a hitch in his giddy up. I had my time as a ballplayer, I enjoyed that time, but it has past, and I am fine with that. I am fine with that, because it is passing on to the young man that made me love the game again. The young man that let me be a kid again.

My mom told me that when you become a parent you get to see the world through a child’s eye’s again. I’ve thoroughly enjoyed that view, and feel as though I’ve wrung all I can out of it. Both the kids are officially adults now, so I suppose it’s time for me to grow up a bit as well…just a bit.

I realize that baseball is just a game, but it has been a game that has served as a commonality between myself and Jackson from the beginning. As his father, his coach, and now for a brief moment, his teammate, I have enjoyed oh so many days of playing catch, of throwing him batting practice, of just passing the time together.

This passing of time together became more enjoyable when I stopped trying to make him a major leaguer, and just decided to play with him for the sake of playing. There is a very, very small percentage of ballplayers that make it to the major leagues, and there is a very, very small percentage of time before your little boy becomes a man. I chose to bank on the second percentage, the sure bet, and it has paid out handsomely.

Happy Birthday Jackson, you’re a good man.