Baseball
(a poem for Jacob)

When you were born
almost three years ago
your daddy held you in his arms
and told you all of the things
he was going to teach you
one day

The bike you would learn to ride
the strokes you would swim in the water
the way to best break all traffic rules without getting caught
how to love the Red Sox
even when they would most likely disappoint you
in the end

But mostly
what your daddy wanted to teach you
was how to play baseball

When you were born

almost three years ago
your daddy held you in his arms
and told you about his plans for the two of you
he would pitch, you would hit
He would teach, you would learn

I told him to slow down
to enjoy you as the newborn baby that you were
that he'd have time to teach you all of the things
that you would want to learn

I was wrong
and I am glad, in hindsight
that he shared all of the things he wanted to teach you
so that when you learn how to do them
you can know that your daddy is there with you too
he's watching you, guiding you, teaching you
even though you can't see him, smell him, feel him

He's the wind pushing the ball through the air
he's the bat slapping the ball
he's the grass that you fall gently down on
he's the base that you step on with all your weight
he's the announcer yelling, "play ball"

Play ball my son, play ball

-b