I haven't read it cover to cover, but have selected a chapter or two during a lull in the day. So, this isn't going to be a review. Here's a link to the publisher's site. Wayne Stewart has interviewed dozens of players for this book that weaves stories of both on and off the field memories of fathers and sons.
Let me share some of my own...
In the late 1960s (or very early 1970s) my family took a vacation to the Boston area. My folks met at a college there and went back every so often. We saw the Old North Church, Old Ironsides, Old this and Old That. On this particular trip my dad took my brother and I to Fenway. I don't know who they were playing. I don't know who won. I do remember having seats in the outfield and drunken men brawling in the stands. And that my dad took us there.
I remember his old glove, tucked away in his closet. It was bulky, dark chocolate colored with age. Putting it on and wondering how anyone could catch a ball with it.
I remember going to see Eddie Feigner of The King & His Court take on a local softball team. And then riding back in Elmer Wilson's convertible.
I remember going to Montreal to see the Expos take on the Pirates in a double header in July of 1974. My brother ordered delivery pizza to Parc Jarry.
I remember taking him to a Volunteers game where the handily beat Vandy in the rain.
I remember taking another family vacation. This time Cooperstown was part of the trip. The Cardiff Giant at the Farmer's Museum is still vivid in my mind.
I remember being taken to see a Harlem Globetrotters game for my birthday in the 1970s.
I remember going to see the Reds play the Cubs in June of 2001 in Cincy. Dad was there, sharing his time with his sons and his grandson.
I remember attending a SUNY-Plattsburgh hockey team take on the Russians in the mid-1970s.
I remember watching a spring training game last year with the Rockies hosting the White Sox in Tucson the day before my mom had knee replacement surgery. Again, with the family. Dad and son. Grandfather and grandson. Dad and son.
I remember re-introducing him to baseball cards a few months ago.
I remember playing on a church softball team with him. Slow pitch. High arc. I think that he played first base. I pitched one game and mostly played catcher. I don't know that we won many games. But I remember looking up to my 'old man' thinking that some day I wanted to be like him.
I still do.
Thanks for the memories, Dad. Let's keep making them.