I am still working on cleaning up my photos on the laptop, battling the ridiculous iCloud in the process. I have less than two weeks to do previews of both Miller Park and Wrigley Field and go through about 4 more years of pictures; this doesn’t sound like much but it is a daunting task. My photos are bits of my life, and I am trying to maintain the storyline as I took pictures of it, and choosing what goes and what stays is really difficult and time consuming. I am hoping that by the All Star Break, I will be able to return to this site more frequently and with more pictures.
Today is father’s day. My father is still alive, but Tom’s is not. I wrestle with this a little every year. When Tom’s dad took his own life in 1999, Tom and I were still two years away from even meeting yet. I never knew him. I see him in Tom and in Tom’s sister Kate, and he was clearly an excellent father to both of them, and would have been a fantastic grandfather to Kate’s kids. My own father would be an excellent grandfather to our kids, if I had chosen to have any; but living in increasingly-expensive Seattle and being married to a musician isn’t exactly a kid-friendly situation, and that part of my brain that was supposed to make me want kids (I guess? Is that how it works?) never woke up. And I’m OK with that, always have been.
My father was surprised by my sudden turn to watching baseball as a part of my life; most of my family is, and if you’ve ever seen me at the ballpark, you would know that my appearance kind of belies my fandom. One of the Jays fans we spoke to during that series thought I was there on a lark, and was quite shocked to find out that I had been a season ticket holder/regular at the park since 2008. My dad likes trying to organize a yearly family ballgame, and we were doing OK for a few years, but it has been a difficult thing to do, what with everyone’s schedules. Last year fell by the wayside; this year might too; Tom’s been taking every job that comes his way, and festival season is happening now, which means a lot of flights to a lot of far off places, and a lot of weekends away. My brother and sister in law are on the go a lot, as are her sister and brother in law, who live up in Bellingham. So this year may fall by the wayside as well, which is a shame. I love being at the park with my family, since we have kind of scattered and it’s a good few hours by car for any of us to visit each other.
But that’s not why I’m writing, really. I’m writing because I read this amazing piece of work by Amanda Cumming this morning, and it hit me really hard. My friend Julie just lost her father the other night to a heart condition. My friend Katie’s father is dealing with the end stages of that devil cancer. Our parents are the people who most shape us, who help us be who we were, are right now, and will be. My father played a big part in my life, and I see wonderful dads in all my friends who have kids. My friends’ kids are going to do great things some day, because they all have fantastic men raising them or men in their lives who are helping inspire them to grow up and be good people.
I don’t really know where I’m going with this, but Mandy’s article there really affected me. So do yourself a favor; read it.
Then go call your dad.