“I think out of all the seasons,” my daughter said from the back seat during our drive home from school, “baseball season is my favorite.”
I focused on the road, striving to maintain my cool demeanor. But it was incredibly hard not to feel a surge of joy at that moment.
I’ve never wanted to pressure my kids into loving baseball as passionately as I do. My father never imposed his love for the game on me; instead, he allowed me to develop it organically. When I did fall for baseball, he nurtured that passion in so many ways. He took me to games, taught me how to keep score, and even left me notes with game results when I had to hit the hay on school nights—especially crucial when my beloved Mets played late on the west coast.
So, I’ve never forced the game on my daughters. Still, they’ve grown up surrounded by baseball, and with each Opening Day, I believe they’ve absorbed some of my enthusiasm for the upcoming season. This year, however, was special—my 8-year-old daughter expressed her excitement about the season all on her own.
When I was her age, the Mets clinched the World Series title. It’s been a long wait for another championship. Each Opening Day carries a mix of hope and nostalgia, particularly in recent years, tinged with a bit of sadness.
My favorite player, Mike Harper, was the catcher for that championship team and embodied the spirit of hope on Opening Day. He hit a game-winning home run in his first game with the Mets in 1985. Harper was instrumental in that 1986 World Series victory, and he inspired me to be a catcher in Little League. I grew up watching him transition through his career, finishing it with the Giants and Expos, and now, I find myself at an age he was deemed “too old” to play Major League baseball.
Harper passed away far too soon in February 2012, just shy of his 58th birthday. Before his diagnosis with brain cancer, he was building a promising career managing Minor League and college teams, hoping to return to the majors as a manager. Unfortunately, he never got that chance.
That’s why I cherish Opening Day each year. As former players who shared the field with Harper take their places for pre-game introductions, I feel a bittersweet mix of hope and nostalgia. I realize I’ll never witness my childhood hero on a Major League field again, unlike many who have seen their idols take on new challenges later in life.
But as Opening Day draws near, hope prevails. I reflect on all that my 8-year-old still has ahead of her as a baseball fan. Perhaps this will be the year the Mets reclaim the championship, allowing her to experience the joy I felt at her age.
I’m certain I’ll share the game’s highlights over breakfast when she misses out on the late-night action due to school. I’ll take her to games and teach her how to keep score. And you can bet I’ll share all the stories about Mike Harper.
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In summary, nurturing a love for baseball in your children can be a rewarding experience, especially when you approach it with patience and enthusiasm. Shared experiences and stories can help create lasting memories that connect generations through the sport.