I’ve known for quite some time that it is time to stop doing something that I’ve been doing for as long as I can remember, but I’ve kept doing it. No, it’s not chewing my toenails, those reside the greatest anatomical distance from our mouths for a reason. It’s baseball.

As James Earl Jones said in the movie Field of Dreams, “The one constant through all the years has been baseball. Baseball has marked the time. This field, this game, it’s a part of our past. It reminds us of all that once was good and it could be again.”

I was 17-years old when my Mom and I went to that movie at the Crosby show hall. It left us both teary eyed, but being 17 I wasn’t comfortable with being teary eyed in public yet so I was quick to blink back any remnants of emotion before the lights of the theater were able to expose me.

Things change. I’m in the twilight of my 40s, quite comfortable with getting teary eyed in public, and although playing baseball still reminds me of all that once was good, for me, it won’t be again. So it goes.

I’ve enjoyed having the opportunity to be teammates with my son the past few years, and thankful I am still in good enough shape to sort of look like a baseball player out on the field. But with Jackson shipping off for Air Force basic training the end of August, I’m fairly certain he won’t be around here to play ball next summer.

He’s ready to see a bit of the world, so we will set ourselves to the parental task of soaking up what remains of his time here in Rapid City.

As he has been my sole reason for digging out my old glove and suiting up the past few years, I am certain this is the end of the line for this game…time to put it in the past. I was better in the past anyway. Weren’t we all?

In the distant past, I occupied one of the top few spots in the batting order, where I was expected to contribute consistently to the team. In the present, I languish near the bottom of the order where little is expected, contributions are inconsistent, and more often than not, nonexistent. On the field, who you were offers very little solace to who you are.

The epitaph on the tombstone hovering over all that once was, and my parting words to those strapping 20-year olds that have been kind enough to allow a spot for the “old man” in the lineup the past few years, “As you are, I once was. As I am, you will one day be.”

In sports, as in life, enjoy each season you get to the fullest of your ability, so that when you cross that line for the final time you can look back with the satisfaction of knowing that you gave it a good go and you left it all on the field.