I Wanna Be A Rockstar

My Dad was a serious Little League baseball fan. He not only coached my brother through the ranks of youth baseball but he would also attend games in other towns. He loved the purity and simplicity of the game at that level.

He once went to an All-Star game in “the city” and sat way up in the bleachers of the stadium. While wearing a baseball cap from a nearby Virginia university.

He was immediately approached by a father eager for conversation. Now, my dad could talk to anyone… anyone at all. He was a salesman by trade and could inevitably find a common bond with a total stranger. He was as happy as a pig in poop as dad after dad sat down beside him wanting to “chat” about baseball.

It took him a minute to realize what was happening. All these fathers thought he was a college scout looking for talent. Did Daddy correct them? Oh no. He happily sat there and let them think he was a big-shot with the university and welcomed the attention. He never came out and said that he was or that he wasn’t but he wore that hat throughout the ENTIRE All-Star tournament and added dark sunglasses to his ensemble.

I thought about my Daddy when I was in Yorktown last week. All I wanted to do was practice shooting on these little twinkly lights before my senior girls showed up.

Poor guy. He actually paused playing and grinned for my camera. I wonder who he thought I worked for? He’d be disappointed to know that I’m not much more than a farm hand.