Memories

The announcer said, "Ladies and gentlemen,please welcome our 2010 Don Freeman Award Winner." A rather tall and muscular young man strode to the podium. His face was a bit flushed with nervousness. As he approached the front of the meeting room at Safeco Field, the home of the Seattle Mariners, he shook hands with a few of the other coaches. "Thank you very much," the young man said. He looked very nervous now. "I am very honored to receive this award, especially as I look out and see so many coaches whose names I have heard and whose programs I respect. I would like to thank my parents who are both in attendance today. Again, thank you very much."

Again, as he walked back to his seat, he was greeted by many coaches who stuck out their hands to congratulate him.

I was suddenly sent back in time nearly 33 years. I was in the delivery room of the Dayton General Hospital in Dayton, Washington. There was my wife, RaeLyn, in the middle of giving birth. As I looked up at the clock on the wall in the delivery room, I saw the time: 4:15 AM, exactly. Just then he made his debut: Jason Patrick Castro.

Again, I was transported to a back yard in Port Townsend where I was playing baseball with a blonde little fellow with a fat, red, plastic baseball bat. He was wearing a Seattle Seahawks jersey with Steve Largent's number 80 on the front. He laughed loudly as he hit the ball 40 feet over my head into the neighbor's yard.

Now it was a cold night in October, the grass was frosty and I could see my breath as I sat in the stands watching the Snohomish Panther football team. Just then the quarterback threw a 15 yard pass to a wide open tight end. The tight end continued running for a 45 yard gain. Two plays later, the same tight end scored a touchdown.

The sun was out and it blinded me as I sat in the dugout. I was keeping score for the Panther baseball team. This would be Jason's last playoff game at Everett Memorial Stadium and I wanted a picture of his next 'at bat.' I left the dugout just as he strode to the plate. I found a good spot from which to aim my camera. Just as I focused on him, he swung and met the ball sharply. I clicked the shutter and then looked up to see the ball heading for deep left field. Could it? Oh, Lord, please!! GONE! Jason just hit a long home run! I love it. I went back to the dugout as he rounded the bases and when he came into the dugout, we hugged.

Now here he was accepting his second major award of the year. He had already accepted the AP Washington State 2A Coach of the Year Award, for finishing the season 2nd in the state. Now the State Coaches Association was honoring him. A dad's mind just goes wild during times like this. I remembered the little boy who was always laughing. He loved soccer. He loved basketball. He loved football. But most of all, he loved baseball. Now here he was, a 32 year old man, 6'3", 235 pounds, who was teaching other high school boys, not only the game of baseball, but the "game of life." He was teaching them how to be a "real winner," not just how to win games.

How does a father share this kind of pride without sounding like a braggart? How does one tell others that he is so thankful to God for having been allowed to be the father to such a person? I was once asked if I thought Jason appreciated all his mother and I had done for him. My response was, "Honestly?? We are the ones who are thankful for all he has done for us!!"

My grandma taught my uncles about baseball and they grew to love it. My mother taught me to love the game. And I taught Jason and he loves it. Isn't it wonderful how certain things never die?

" . . .buy me some peanuts and Crackerjack. I don't care if I ever get back . . ."