Updated: April 29, 2021
Originally Published: April 9, 2015
As we drove home from school, my daughter piped up from the back seat, “I think baseball season is my favorite!” I tried to maintain my composure while secretly doing a happy dance inside. That simple statement filled me with so much joy.
I never wanted to impose my love for baseball on my kids. My dad didn’t push it onto me; he let me discover my passion for the game at my own pace. When I finally did embrace it, he supported my enthusiasm in many ways. From taking me to games to teaching me how to keep score, he was always there. On school nights, when I had to hit the hay before the game was over, he’d leave me notes with the scores to enjoy in the morning—especially exciting when my beloved Mets were playing late on the west coast!
I didn’t force baseball on my daughters, but they’ve certainly been surrounded by it. With every new Opening Day, they’ve soaked up my excitement for the upcoming baseball season. This year was special, though, as my 8-year-old expressed her enthusiasm all on her own.
When I was her age, the Mets clinched the World Series title. Sadly, they haven’t won again since then. The annual promise of a fresh start each Opening Day is often clouded by a bit of nostalgia—mixed with sadness from the past few years.
One of my all-time favorite players was Mike Thompson, the catcher on that championship Mets team. He embodied the spirit of hope on Opening Day, hitting a game-winning home run during his first game with the Mets. I admired him so much, I became a catcher in Little League! It’s bittersweet to think that I’m now the same age he was when people considered him “too old” to play effectively in the majors.
Tragically, Mike passed away far too soon in February 2012, just shy of his 58th birthday. Before he was diagnosed with brain cancer, he was carving out a successful career managing Minor League and college teams, dreaming of making a return to the majors. Sadly, that opportunity slipped away.
That’s why I tune in every Opening Day, feeling a mix of hope and sadness as I watch former teammates and rivals of Mike take their places on the field. It’s hard not to reminisce about my childhood hero and the legacy he left behind.
But as Opening Day approaches, I focus on the bright future ahead for my daughter. With any luck, this could be the Mets’ year, and she’ll get to experience the thrill of a championship at the same impressionable age I did. I’ll be sure to fill her in at breakfast about all the game moments she missed because of bedtime. And of course, I’ll take her to games, teach her how to keep score, and share stories about Mike Thompson.
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In summary, it’s all about nurturing a love for the game without force. By sharing experiences and creating memories, we can pass down our passion for baseball to the next generation, making it a fun and cherished family tradition.