A Simple Game of Catch


#1

I took a walk to the park, and sat upon a bench,
I remembered all the good times here, then opened up my lunch.
As I unwrapped my bag and started to poke around,
a ball came by, rolling next to me, and bounced along the ground.

I picked it up then saw a kid, stretching out his glove,
he motioned to me to throw it over, with a smile upon his mug.
A handsome lad, with a baseball cap, wanting the ball I had,
and an older man, in his golden years, a man that he called dad.

As I watched the two throw back and forth this browns and scruffy ball,
I remembered how my dad and I, would play catch from spring to early fall.
And after every Sunday dinner, my mom would timely say,
“I’ll clear the diner table, why don’t you two go out and play”.
So my dad would grab his mitt, that had seen better days,
and I would wear my glove so proud for joy was on the way.

We’d toss around our scruffy ball for hours, father and son,
and my dad would smile and nod his head after every single one.

That wonderful time, is still in my mind, of those times that we played catch,
and as time went by, how I grew in size, but I never did forget.
My dad and I, so highly prized, just between us two,
a simple scruffy ball, that we both caught and threw.

As time went by, with greying hair, my dad would take his nap,
and I’d hold his old mitt and my old glove and rest them in my lap.
I watched him rest in his favorite chair, the one by the door,
and I knew our little games of catch would simply be no more.

As I watched the two in the park this father and his son,
I can see the dad with smiles on his face, as my dad had done.
And with every toss of this brown and scruffy ball,
I hope they enjoy this precious time, from spring to early fall.

As I sit back on my bench, and I think I wish I had,
but the only thoughts that come to me is, “I really miss you dad.”

Coach B.


#2

I think I could write a really profound response to this…if I could just stop weeping… :smiley:
Thank you John.


#3

Coach B. you’ve really got to get someone to publish this stuff. :shock:

I know good poetry when I read it. Good poetry illicits images in the mind that are vivid. It gives a life or character value and worth. It takes a three dimensional reality and captures it in a one dimensional media. Finally, good poetry is instantly recognized because of its honesty. There is nothing false or phoney about it.

Coach…this is good poetry. Thank You.


#4

Not only does this remind me of the first time I played catch with my dad which was about 13 years ago but feels like yesterday but it also makes me think of my grandpa who passed away over the summer talk about bringing a tear to your eye. I think this is the best poem you’ve posted and probably the best I’ve read.


#5

Amazing…to say the least.

They way you created that image in my mind and just got it to stick was phenomenal. Thank you for posting this, I really had to fight to hold back my tears.


#6

Thank you, Coach B. As I read this poem I was reminded of another poem—the last two lines in particular: “Of all sad words of tongue or pen, The saddest are these—It might have been.” And I experienced a profound sense of loss. You see, my father and I never played catch. He was a dysfunctional sort, always thinking of what might have been for him but never was, and always ready to criticize and put down and sabotage what he could not have. Also, he was closer to my middle sister than to anyone else in our family, and when we lost her to an inoperable brain tumor at the age of 37 he lost his will to live and passed on a year later.
But life goes on, and I am thankful for what I had and continue to have—all the good memories, of a successful musical career, my deep love for baseball. an incredible pitching coach who took me in hand, worked with me and helped me become a better pitcher, and my mom—oh, do I ever miss her! Again, thank you—for putting things in perspective.


#7

Please don’t forget about your family on LTP Zita :wink:
We are blessed to have you and Coach B to help the fellas up with your experience and wisdom.


#8

jd, don’t worry. I’m still here—me and my slider. :slight_smile: