Go fishing while the sun shines~ June 19, 1997

David Heiller 

A friend of mine made a good point at a graduation open house a couple weeks ago.

I had asked him how his remodeling project was coming.

“Slow,” he said with a bit of embarrassment. He said he had been taking his kids fishing in his free time.

“But the kids aren’t going to remember me for remodeling the house,” he said.

I thought about that comment and agreed. My friend was doing the right thing by taking his kids fishing. He was feeling a bit guilty about it, because he is a hard worker. The thought of fishing when he should be working on his house was alien to him.

But his kids are getting older, as is he. He can see they won’t be around a whole lot longer. Maybe 10 years. That’s not long, the way time flies for most people.

So make hay—or go fishing—while the sun shines, he was saying.

David and his teenagers in our woods

His words reminded me of something Harmon Killebrew supposedly said. His wife was complaining about how playing baseball with the kids was wrecking their yard.

“I’m not raising a yard, I’m raising a family,” the Killer responded. Touche!

I think of words like those, and those of my friend, when my kids ask me to play basketball or softball with them. I usually—not always, but almost—stop what I’m doing and honor their request.

With my 14-year-old son, it’s basketball on the trampoline these days. It’s a fun game, lots of jumping and dunking. Noah beats me almost every time.

It’s a humbling experience, seeing your off-spring surpass you in physical ability. But it’s still very worthwhile. It gives us something in common.

Playing sports with Noah keeps things in perspective. Things can get tense between us. He’s a teenager! We don’t like the same music or the same clothes or the same haircuts. But we can still play a game of basketball together, and slap each other on the back when it’s over.

With my 12-year-old daughter, it’s softball. We like to go to Mikey’s field in Denham. It’s a gem of a spot, especially on a warm June evening with your daughter.

We went there on June 11, just Mollie and me. I pitched to her, and she hit pretty much every ball I pitched. Good solid hits.

She asked me to pitch faster. I did. She kept hitting ball after ball.

Malika "gets it!"

I was amazed. This was the girl who could barely hit the ball last year, and now she couldn’t miss?

After about five minutes, I stopped and went up to her. I told her she was making good contact. Now she had to put some power behind it. I demonstrated a few swings, extending my arms Killebrew style. “Put your shoulder into it,” I said.

Wow. It was like turning up the volume on a radio. She stung the ball. It shot off her bat, hit after hit. She was in a groove.

Mollie had a proud grin on her face. She couldn’t believe how well she was doing any more than I could. It was like she had suddenly caught on; she finally “got it.”

Then she thanked me for playing with her, for teaching her.

She said I was the best dad in the world.

The moment froze in time. I’ll always remember it. The setting sun. The lush grass. The beautiful diamond. My daughter and me, playing ball. That’s what life is all about.

I said that I was just doing what any dad was doing. “A dad who doesn’t play ball with his kids ought to be divorced,” I told her.

And I meant it. I’m going to make sure my kids never divorce me.