100 Days of Vibes: Day 1

Welcome to 100 Days of Vibes. These are the last 100 Days of Vibes that we may ever experience. Thank you, and G-d bless us, every one.///////

Father, why is it that the man was mean to me?
Son, it is not your fault. It is the fault of man.
Pappy, why does what I feel hurt?
Young’n, you must not hurt, for that is what man wanted you to feel.

My father took me to the ice cream parlor after the baseball game. I had struck out 3 times and witnessed my dad cheering on the other kids on the team more loudly than his own. Instead, he looked into my eyes desperately, wanting me to get on base.

The pitcher pitched too fast. I was not mentally prepared to perform. Baseball was not life. It seemed silly to care about hitting the ball.

It was clear that father did not want to take me to get iced cream because I didn’t ‘deserve’ the iced cream. I didn’t get on base.

I had a good conversation with Steven, the benchwarmer. He was wondering why the free sodas were poured 1 hour before the game was over. Why couldn’t they just pour the sodas into the ice cups when upon ordering? It’s not like the volunteers had anything else to do.

Every one is just in a hurry to go somewhere else. They aren’t in the moment. If the rest of the moments in this life of mine were exactly like baseball, there certainly weren’t moments work immersing myself in. All I could do was hop from experience to experience, feeling everything and leaving with nothing.

Dad was in a hurry that day. He had left the moment long ago. He probably would’ve felt better about the moment if his son had hit at least a double (not even a home run was required). He still would’ve left the moment.

Father taught me that moments are what you make them. For yourself. Be unforgiving in the moment. Hurt people. Leave them behind. Love is only for you. Love is only what you want to believe about the connectivity of the world. Until you want that definition to change.

I stepped up to the plate with runners in scoring position. All I needed was a ground ball single.

I watched a ball pass over the plate.

Strike.

I watched another ball pass over the plate.

Two strikes.

Another ball passed over the plate. The umpire yelled, “Ball.”

It was clear he thought I sucked, and was giving me one more chance to not suck. The opposing coach, a super dad of the best player on the other team yelled out that the call was “horse shit.” He was right. He was seizing his moment, empowering his son. He probably drank lots of Miller Lite on weeknights.

I stepped out of the batter’s box. I looked into the stands where my dad was giving me a desperate look. He made a bat swinging motion: “Try to make contact!” Save face for your old man.

I had a feeling that if I swung, I would make contact. Something felt different. I felt confident. I could maybe make the moment more meaningful by making contact with the pitch. I could uplift my team. Uplift the spirits of my father. Uplift the spirits of my mother, my nuclear family by making contact with this pitch.

The pitcher wound up and delivered the pitch. He was really good at baseball.

I swung, hit nothing. The catcher even ‘tagged’ me after catching the ball to ensure I was out.

I walked back to the dugout. The coach told me that we would work on bunting next practice. I had failed, but it didn’t really hurt to fail the team. It just felt like I hurt my dad’s feelings, and I wasn’t sure why it mattered more to him than it did to me.

The next batter won the game for our team. The parents in the stands were very excited.

I lost the moment for my father.

Twenty or so years later, I learned that I was not an extension of the flawed, biased worldview of my parents, freeing myself from that experience as anything more than an overextended metaphor.

I looked into the mirror and told myself, “Fuck baseball. Baseball is fucking gay.”

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• 100 Days of Vibes: Day 2 →