Fatherhood Friday
Sitting in my old closet at my parents' house are about 30 shoeboxes overflowing with baseball cards. I'm guessing that there are about 25,000 cards, which at one point were probably worth enough to pay for at least one year of college for my almost-seven-year-old but today might purchase a textbook.
Their real value, though, is as a reminder of all the good stuff of my youth. While I didn't put them in my bike wheel spokes, just about any romantic memory one can have of baseball cards and youth, I've got. Because, deep down I'm a baseball romantic. There are undoubtedly bigger, more knowledgeable fans out there. But my love for baseball goes well beyond the game itself; it was, for example, the one safe space between my father and I during the tumultuous teen years.
In the last few years my passion has ebbed and flowed, but lately its been on the rise, for two reasons. One, there are a lot of exciting baseball stories out there that even non-fans (especially in DC and Detroit; you know who you are) have followed. Two, my oldest son is old enough that he should be starting to enjoy the game. Should.
The challenge is, he hasn't caught baseball fever. I would love nothing more than to start bonding over the game, whether playing it or watching it. But his interest is lukewarm. Don't get me wrong; I have no interest or desire to shape his hobbies and pursuits. I want him to discover what makes him go on his own. If he discovers passions about which I know nothing and couldn't relate to, I would hope that would play no role in his pursuit of things.
But . . . there's nothing wrong with really, really hoping that we'll have at least one shared passion, is there? Do you have a passion that you were hoping you'd share with your son or daughter? How much do you try to steer you kids to your interests?
(Photo credit: www.realtruth.org)
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