I Remember When... You Taught Me

I remember when you coached my softball team that summer: you batted the balls to each position on the team, making sure that each one of us had our turn to field the ball. You told us to think about where to throw it before it was even pitched, according to who was on what base, and that taught me to think ahead and to be prepared. You told us when we batted to hit the ball with all we had and to run hard to first base, even if we thought we would be thrown out. There was always a chance the first baseman might drop the ball or not even catch it. When you gave me one-on-one pitching practice, you taught me to just get the ball over the plate; even if I wasn't the best pitcher on the team I could still try my best. You also taught me to cheer on the rest of the team when it was my turn to sit on the bench.

I remember when you helped me study for the district spelling bee after I won it for my school. You taught me that perseverance and practice are the keys to improvement. When I got rushed and hurried to spell a word, it came out wrong and I was disqualified; I felt like crying like some of the other contestants had. You came up to me and said you were proud of me and that made all the difference in the world. You said I could try again next year but how was I to know that when next year came you would be gone and out of my life forever?

I remember when I was about five and I was standing at the kitchen door with some clothes in a paper grocery bag; I was going to run away. Everyone else sat at the dinner table laughing at me but as I went to open the door you asked, "Don't you want to eat something first?" You were the only one not laughing at me and I took your request seriously and sat down to eat first. By the time we were finished I had changed my mind but you treated me with dignity and respect. You taught me that my feelings really did matter even if there were some who did not seem to care; and that it was okay to change my mind after I had calmed down rather than make harsh decisions in anger.

I remember when we lived in Fort Oglethorpe and the neighbors down the street had a swimming pool put in. I asked you why we couldn't have one too and you told me not to want something just because somebody else has it. You taught me to be thankful for what I had and to be satisfied. "Besides," you said, "we have the pool at the church where we can go all summer."

I remember when you taught me how to swim by letting me sit on your shoulders as you went deeper and deeper into the water. You taught me to trust you and to not be afraid to try something new. I wish you could have seen me in eighth grade when I was on the swimming and diving team. I came in first place in the 500-yard freestyle race. Mom was there to cheer me on.

I remember when I was very young and I wanted to see if hay would burn, so I lit a match to the bale that was sitting up against a tree. Before I knew it the fire was out of control and half the tree was burning. As I ran back and forth to the hose filling up buckets of water and trying to extinguish the fire, Mom woke up and realized what was happening. After she got the fire out she scolded me and kept saying, "Wait until your father gets home!" I dreaded the next couple of hours until you came in the door. When she explained what had happened you just looked at me for a moment and then burst out laughing. I was expecting punishment but you taught me to have a sense of humor and that all is well that ends well.

I remember when my friend Gary's cat was sleeping under the car and you accidentally ran over her. I went with you as you knocked on his door and told him you were sorry and that you would get him another cat if he wanted. You taught me to be accountable for my actions and to admit when I made a mistake.

I remember when you took me to my first communion and the day that you got up in front of the church and read from the Bible. You taught me that you believed in God and His message to us; and that God is real, and God is love. When we moved to Atlanta it was no longer permissable for you to lose sight of me at the grocery store. You taught me to stick close to you because you loved me and didn't want anything bad to happen to me.

Most of all I remember those many mornings when you would rise early, shower and get ready to go off to another hard day at work. I would anticipate seeing you at the bus stop where I rode my bicycle to meet you in the evenings. I could tell that you were tired but you always had time to help me with my homework or let me show you what hobby I was working on; or just to listen to whatever questions I might have. You taught me that your time was the most valuable thing you could give me, and that included the time you spent at work making a living to provide for your family.

Another time I remember when you helped me immensely. I was only five or six years old but the dentist told me that I had five cavities. As the time came for my appointment, you told me to get ready to go but I was very nervous. As I sat on the couch pretending I couldn't tie my shoelaces, you could tell what I was feeling and you said, "What's wrong? You really don't want to go, do you?" I replied no, hoping you would say I didn't have to go. You said, "If you go, I'll be proud of you," and that made all the difference in the world.

If there's one thing you didn't teach me, Daddy, it was how to say goodbye. I don't know if things would be any different if I could have had a chance to say I love you one more time; or to say goodbye. From what I know now, it probably would not have made much difference. I still have dreams where you come to visit me and we go to baseball games and places like that, just like before. To this day I am not very good at saying goodbye. I am much better at saying, "See you later." I want to believe that I will see you again one day, but until then I will try to put into practice all the things that you taught me, so many years ago. Thank you.