Father’s Day Memories–a series (PT 1): Treasured Memories

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Over the next several days leading up to Father’s Day, we (the collective author team) thought that it was only fitting for a blog about Dad’s to focus on this one day during the year when the nations eyes are on “old pops”.

Each of us will take a stab at sharing memories about our dads (some of these have come out in various blog posts previously) and how those memories have helped shape (both good and bad) who we are as “fathers”.

Batter UP–Gregg Stutts; On Deck–Jeff Abramovitz; In the hole–Leary Gates!

Having lived in Arkansas for the past 20 years, there hasn’t been an easy opportunity to take my son to a MajorDad and Son at Baseball game League Baseball game. The closest team is the Texas Rangers, but they’re about five hours away. Today though, we’re going to see the Atlanta Braves play the Pittsburght Pirates at Turner Field. We’re staying at Young Life camp about an hour north of Atlanta, so I couldn’t pass up the chance.

I grew up in New Jersey about 90 minutes east of Philadelphia and 90 minutes south of New York City, so my dad took me to see a number of baseball games. I remember seeing a Yankee game from box seats along the third baseline. I think we once sat behind homeplate at Shea Stadium to see the Mets play.

My favorite memories by far though are of going to the Vet in Philadelphia to see the Phillies play. Much of the drive from Brick, New Jersey to Philadelphia is along Route 70. It’s a state highway that begins at the Jersey Shore (New Jersey actually has great beaches!) and ends near Pennsylvania. Route 70 has great memories for me. Probably better memories than the games themselves.

Route 70 was paved in such a way that your car tires made a “ba-dump…ba-dump…ba-dump” sound as you drove. I think much of the old road has been paved over now, but anyone who has traveled that highway knows what I mean though. I love just the thought of that sound.

Going to a Phillies game also meant stopping at Olga’s Diner. I don’t remember anything special about the food, but I’m sure my dad could tell you what he liked there. He often remembered places he’d been by the restaurants he’d visited. No trip to Philadelphia was complete without a stop at Olga’s.

So today, I get to take my son to his first MLB game. I’m hoping he’ll take away at least one good memory of the day. I know I’ve got a treasure chest loaded with memories of being with my dad.

Sound off: What are the treasured memories of being with your dad?

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2 Responses to “Father’s Day Memories–a series (PT 1): Treasured Memories”

  1. Jeff Abramovitz Says:

    Can’t reveal too much since I’ve got an article to contribute ;)…but, I recall spending time at my dad’s apartment. We often just went to get KFC or Clark’s sub sandwiches and then watched football, golf or just messed around. It wasn’t the food or the TV but the time spent just being with my dad on a Sunday that meant the most. I didn’t get to see him during the week but Sunday’s were our days. Divorce is a terrible thing because it keeps kids from being with their mom’s and dad’s. Though I wouldn’t have chosen it, I was so glad my dad was close enough and interested enough to at least come over weekly. Thanks, Dad.

  2. Anne Coletti Says:

    My dad was a Professional Civil Engineer and Land Surveyor. Every time he would go survey someone’s ranch or farm, he would ask me to go along. And, of course, we would take our fishing poles. After the work was done, we would find a nearby stream or beaver pond and throw in some bait to see if the fish were biting. Dad usually used a fly, I chose the worms or cheese. He would sneak up the creek, I would read Nancy Drew. He would catch more, but mine would be bigger!

    The times I remember the most were when the fish WEREN’T biting. Dad would give up on the flies, put on weights and bait, and leave his pole on a willow branch by the creek while he started the Coleman Stove, or maybe a fire, to cook dinner. It never failed, just when the cooking demanded full attention, or we would take our first mouthful, the fish would bite. Our poles would jump off the branch and we would drop our food to grab them. More than once Dad had to run into the creek to catch his rig! It was these times we BOTH caught big fish. And laughed all the way home.

    He was a great Dad and a better friend. My parents would have celebrated their 50th last Saturday. He died nearly 19 years ago of cancer. I still miss you…..

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