Pastime

On a Friday night in April, my wife and I got the opportunity to take our boys to Turner Field in Atlanta for a game between the Braves and Astros.  Their opponent was irrelevant to me due to the nine-game losing streak they so effortlessly earned.  Because of my selfish expectations for our home team, I have little desire to attend a game. I allow those feelings to dictate my outlook on the game itself.  The immediate thought is that it is a waste of time.

Then, some time before the 7th inning stretch, I realize time has no significance.  I glance to my left and see my oldest son, Deven, watching intently with an understanding now of everything happening on the field.  I squeeze my youngest son, Gaven, a little tighter as he points my attention to the left-handed batter at the plate.  "He hits like me, Daddy" he says.  That simply means he bats left-handed as well.  I look at 3rd base and contemplate exactly what we are beholding.  I grinned with the knowledge we were  looking at a legend.  Chipper Jones is one of the greatest players; not just for the Braves, but in the game of baseball.  

I thought about this "waste of time" that many people would label it.  I thought about the generations that have experienced the same feeling I had being with my two sons watching some of the greatest players.  I thought about Chipper's dad.  Perhaps, 33 years ago, he held his son in his lap at a baseball game the same way I was holding Gaven as they participated in one of our greatest pastimes.  It wasn't a waste of time for them.  My sons may never play the game of baseball, but that has no merit in the meaning of this  night.

I don't think a baseball game would be identified as America's pastime anymore with this culture of the 21st century.  But, for a dad with his two sons and beautiful wife (taking the photograph), it is most definitely not a waste of time.