My Father's Baseball Glove

The first sport that I got involved in during my early years was baseball.  When we lived in the Bay Area, we had both the A's and the Giants  to watch and going out to a ball game was a common outing for us.  My mother's company offered her free box tickets to A's games and my father often worked at the S.F. Giants games as a paramedic on standby.  There even was one night when my Mom and I were watching the Giants play at Candlestick Park when we saw my Dad on TV assisting a woman who had been hit in the head by a foul ball.  Luckily, she turned out to be alright.

From the age of about 5, our spring time activities were controlled by little league baseball practices and games.  My father was always there encouraging and teaching me techniques and skills that were needed on the field.  In addition, he was also the head coach for a number of teams that I played on.  He had grown up playing baseball and I suppose I decided to follow suit.  Dating back to the days when he played baseball, he always used a good ol' tan, Rawlings baseball glove.

If you know much about baseball gloves, then you might understand that when you first purchase a new glove, it is very stiff and hard to bend.  Catching baseballs with it is next to impossible.  The glove requires conditioning - lathering it in Vaseline, Saddle Soap, or running it over with a vehicle ususally does the trick.  My father's glove seemed as if it had gone through all of that and then some.  The glove was very comfortable and did its job well - at least as well as its operator could use it.  It was this very glove that I would always throw into my father's lap and beg him to play ball with me.

Since my Dad had coached me often during my younger years, it was not uncommon for me to keep my father's mitt and bat in my own bag, seeing that we were going to the same place.  This carried on as I continued playing, even when my father was no longer the coach of my team.  Occasionally, if someone had forgotten their baseball glove, I would let them borrow my Dad's and require it back afterwards.  This didn't happen too often but when I allowed it, I supposed it was alright and thought nothing bad would come of it.

One Saturday morning, as I was preparing for a game, I wanted to warm up and play catch with my Dad.  Looking in my bag, I could not find it.  Scrounging around our garage, the glove still remained lost.  I can't recall telling my Dad at the time, but I knew I didn't tell him I had lost his glove.  Over the course of the next few weeks, I went around to players and coaches, asking if they had picked up a tan, worn, Rawlings glove.  This might fit the description for most gloves, but I knew I would be able to recognize it.  Despite searching through many teams' equipment bags for a number of months, the glove was never found.

Eventually I had to admit to my father that I had lost his glove and expected punishment.  Indeed, I felt I had rightfully deserved it - I mean, I had lost my father's baseball glove from when he was a kid and that's tragic news there!  Losing it made me feel very bad and despite my efforts to find it, I was never rewarded with discovering it. 

Losing his glove and allowing it to be used by others without his permission was wrong and I have learned my lesson.  But my father, instead of reacting as he rightfully could have, decided to teach me about what "matters most". 

Surprisingly, he was not angry and the impending consequences I feared never came.  While I knew he was disappointed, he forgave me for losing it.  Better yet, he taught me that we should "never let a problem to be solved become more important than a person to be loved." (Thomas S. Monson) 

I am grateful for the lessons I have learned from my father, even when it involved losing his prized baseball gloved.  Through his example, he has taught me the true power and way to love a son, no matter the situation.