I’m 28 years old, and it’s a cool June afternoon in Chicago. My Dad, my brother, Donnie, my oldest son, Michael and I are on our way to the Cubs game. I have lived in Wrigleyville, the neighborhood around Wrigley Field all my life. The Cubs are part of everyday life. The neighborhood has always been filled with visitor’s parking their cars on the side streets because the park does not have a parking lot. So every day in front of our house, we see a parade of Cubs fans on their way to the game.
The neighborhood has changed over the last few years. After a century of daytime baseball games at Wrigley Field, the park now has lights for night games and the neighborhood has become filled with trendy restaurants and specialty shops. Entrepreneurs have moved in adding a new upscale culture to the area. So a few years earlier, I opened a store a few city blocks from the park dedicated to “Sequential Art”…the art of storytelling with sequenced drawings, a.k.a. comic books, comic strips, and cartoons.
A few days earlier, one of my best customers gave me four tickets to a Cubs game, and now three generations of Harrah’s are on our way for a multi-generational outing. Michael has been excited since the moment I told him I had the tickets. Today he’s dressed in a Cub’s shirt and cap, and is wearing a small baseball mitt. Michael is convinced that we are going to catch a foul ball. Michael has seen a few of my customers come into the store with balls they caught during the game, and is convinced that it is normal to catch a ball every game. He originally thought we are going to catch a homerun until I explained to him that we were not going to be sitting in the bleachers. Never the less, he’s convinced we are going to catch a ball.
When we find our seats at the park, I realize immediately that there will not be any foul balls coming our way. We are directly behind home plate and there is a net that covers the whole area behind the batter. Michael asks constantly “Daddy, when are you going to catch me a ball?” Inning after inning pass and I feel so bad my little boy is not going to get the ball that he is convinced he’s going to get. What’s a Daddy to do?
I noticed during the game that regardless of where the Cubs hit the ball, most of the fans in the area stand up to see where it is going…even the foul balls that hit the net. Michael asks again, “Daddy, when are you going to catch me a ball.” I reply, “Honey, you have to wait until it comes our way.”
Hot Dogs, peanuts and Cracker Jacks, do not distract Michael from his goal. It’s the 6th inning and I feel I can’t let his little heart be broken. I think to myself,”this is all he’s talked about for days.” I turn to my father and ask “Dad, can you keep an eye on Michael; I need to take care of something.” He agrees and I walk up the steep set of stairs to the walkway and begin looking for the souvenir shop. I think to myself, “I have to get him a ball so he’s not disappointed.” But a store bought ball is not going to satisfy the smart little boy waiting intensely for a foul ball… and then I devise a scheme. Yes, a plan to trick him, but I justify my deception with the fact he will be so happy. Please don’t judge my parenting skills by this ... I’m caught in the moment. I buy a baseball. It is white, shinny and has a Cubs logo on it. I put the ball in my jacket pocket and return to my seat, to wait for the perfect moment to give Michael the ball. Then suddenly I come up with the perfect idea, “I will wait until the Cubs hit a ball backwards and the fans all stand to see where it goes…then I will spring into action.”
But as things go with my neighbors,”the Cubs,” inning after inning they don’t hit a single pitch. I’m in a panic…”What am I going to do” and suddenly during the 8th inning “it” happens. The ball is hit backwards, we rise with the fans to see where the ball is going and I jump into the air and scream “I’ve got it!” and when I land I’m holding a white, shinny Cubs baseball. As people start sitting down, I hand the ball to Michael and say “Here you go Buddy!” Michael shouts “Cool” and when a couple hundred people behind us realize what I did for my little boy…they start clapping and cheering. Michael says “Dad that was cool!” Mission accomplished!
The game ends and we head home. Michael asks as we’re leaving if we can get a holder to keep the ball in and so I stop and get one for him. When we get home, Michael tells everybody about his ball. Matter of fact, the ball is the main topic of conversation for days, until someone asks him “Why didn’t you get it signed by the player?” Michael looks at me, and I say “Honey, I just didn’t think about it.” He’s content with my answer and the ball finds a place in his bedroom where it will be a prized possession for year s to come.
Moving forward in time 14 years…
It’s a Sunday Night in October, I’m 42 years old. I have been asked to speak at Shepherd’s Apostolic Church in Troy, Missouri. My family is with me and they are all setting on the 2nd roll of the church. Michael is back from college and is setting with his fiancée, Tabitha. Michael has become a talented, Godly young man, and I’m dreading the fact that he is leaving the Saint Louis area once he is married.
I begin my message entitled “See How Much I Love You.” The message is about seeing God’s blessings that are all around us all of the time. During my sermon’s closing, I begin to tell the story about a man and his son’s first baseball game. I tell the story of Michael’s baseball in third person narrative. When I come to the end of the story about “Why the ball isn’t signed” I reach down into the pulpit and pick up a baseball…the baseball (I removed it from Michael’s bedroom earlier this afternoon). I reach into my pocket and pull out a pen and sign the ball:”Michael, See how much I love you, Dad.” I toss the ball to Michael from the pulpit and turn to the congregation and say “If ye then, being evil, know how to give good gifts unto your children, how much more shall your Father which is in heaven give good things to them that ask him?” Matthew 7:11
“See How Much I Love You” - Jesus
