“No matter how bad things seem, always look on the bright side.” That’s something my Dad said to me many years ago, and he lived it out countless ways in front of me. If the glass was 80% empty, then my Dad would call it 20% full. That’s the Dad that I remember.
Growing up, I received few spankings from Dad. That was mainly Mom’s territory; but the ones I DID receive are quite memorable, each one dealing directly with a specific form of behavior Dad disliked. Dad did not tolerate disrespect. I remember the one time that I failed to call him “Sir”, yelling “Huh” down to him from upstairs. I never knew Dad could climb stairs so quickly. That was the last time I ever used that word around him.
Another memorable spanking was when I kept saying the line, “I can’t.” Dad HATED those words. He “taught” me never to say them. I wish I could say that I have always adhered to those instructions. Many times, even when I don’t mouth that hated phrase, my mind says it for me, which is just as bad – or even worse, I think.
When I was 9 years old, I signed up for the Dixie Youth Baseball League. I did it mainly because all of my friends were joining, too. Now, I would like to say that I was an immediate star, but that would be lying. I would love to say that I was just so-so, but that would disingenuous as well.
The truth of the matter is…Dad was pretty lucky. All other kids’ parents had to be at the game by 6:30 pm if they had intentions of seeing their kid play baseball that night. Dad didn’t have to show up until an hour or so later…just in time for the 7th inning (which was the last inning in little league baseball) because that was the only time the coach would put me in the game.
Still, Dad was always so excited when I got up to bat and would talk to me from the stands, as I stood in the batter’s box, waiting for a called strike three. As far as I remember, he never showed embarrassment that his kid was the worst person on the team with the exception of the 8-year old daughter of our coach, who was the team mascot.
That first year, I had a grand total of “0″ hits. But at Dad’s urging, I signed up for the next season anyway. But this year, my fortunes changed drastically: I had “1″ hit. Dad was thrilled. ‘You’re getting the hang of it, son,” I can still hear him say as he drove me home the night I had my career-changing single. (In this league, they scored it a hit – even if you hit it between the first baseman’s legs.)
After turning 11, I graduated to the 11-12 year-old little league – now known as “Pony League.” Dad attended every game and watched me do something quite spectacular: two hits, not including a line drive that almost made it through the hole, but was speared by the shortstop to end an important game.
It was then that I decided to end my career on a high note and retire at the age of 12. Dad was livid. He never talked me out of it, but this is what he said, “Son, just look at it…you are only 7 years away from a 100-hit season. You could be an all-star some day and maybe even go pro…” The sad part about his statement was that he really believed it!
The way he explained it to me was that all I had to do was keep doubling my total like I did from before.
-1st year – 0 hits
-2nd year – 1 hit
-3rd year – 2 hits
-4th year – 4 hits
-5th year – 8 hits
-6th year – 16 hits
-7th year – 32 hits
-9th year – 64 hits
-10th year – 128 hits
Yes, up until his battle with cancer that he fought valiantly for 5 years, Dad always thought positively and lived his life looking at the bright side – even when things seemed hopeless (like my baseball career).
The most positive thing he did, however, was to lead me out onto the back terrace one night in Dallas, Texas, when I was only 5 years old and share with me about God and the salvation He offers through his son, Jesus. Dad was able to share that same story throughout his life to many people, including numerous prisoners – undoubtedly hopeless and locked in deep despair – who needed an uplifting story from a positive man about some good news that has the power to change anyone’s entire life.
