Father's Day.

The first year I played little league I sucked balls. I was so bad that I couldn't even catch a ball that was thrown at my face. I got beamed in the eye really bad before the season even started, and I spent most of that season on the bench. But despite that, my father was there.

When I first started practicing Tae Kwon Do I used to get my ass kicked so hard that my father would have to carry me up the stairs to my room because I was too sore to walk up the stairs myself.

When I was a kid my father used to stand behind the fence at home plate and watch me hit or miss. Never said one word. But never the less he was there for every game.

I blame the bastard for my fishing addiction. He took me and Billy Kelly to Verona Park once. We made home made fishing poles out of sticks, string, and paper clips. All because I was naive enough to believe that Amy Kessler caught a Tuna, in the Bermuda Triangle, with a paper clip as a hook. But that's a story for another time...

I once got into a fight with a neighborhood kid, and I caught my father watching. The good news is that I won the fight.

My father? He's a freak, just like me. The dude never whore a mitt when we used to play catch. Never.

I got hit in the head with a hockey stick once, and had blood squirt out of the side of my head as the doctor patched me up. My father was there holding my hand at the time. He told me it was water...

My father and I have had our differences. Been at each others throats a thousand times, but sfw (so fucking what). The stuff that matters to me now, and will for the rest of my life is picturing him standing behind home plate. Not any of that other bull shit!

I know my father is going to be a great grandfather. I just hope I'm half as good a father as Jack is.