My love of sports came from my dad. He was an avid baseball fan, who spent much of his childhood at the Polo Grounds rooting for his beloved New York Giants, before they moved to San Francisco in 1957. In 1962, I wasn’t even born yet as the last of 6 kids, the Mets moved to town and the members of my household from that moment on rooted for the Amazin’s.

My childhood is filled with regular trips to Shea Stadium to see the Mets. When the Giants would come to town, we would go to multiple games to see my dad’s favorite player Willie Mays. He thought it was important that we see the greatest players of that era. When the Braves and Hank Aaron were in town, we were there. I was lucky enough to see Bob Gibson, Steve Carlton, Pete Rose, Joe Morgan, Johnny Bench and so many others because my dad believed in memories. I was 6 when I saw Roberto Clemente. It was my first game. I remember.

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My dad was in the Marines in World War II. He served in the Pacific and was proud of his country until the day he passed more than twenty years ago. He was a kind but tough guy that grew up in Queens not far from the Whitestone Bridge. He wanted his kids to be educated and street smart. He worked hard his entire life to provide for us.

My dad gave me the love of sports. Amongst a million other things, he taught me the life lessons that baseball taught him. When I was a teenager and our worlds were universes apart from each other, the Mets always brought us together. He used to call himself “the old man” and now I know why. His wisdom grew with each day and he would say to me, “as you get older, I get smarter.”. I used to think, “what the H is he talking about?” Now, I know.

I may have passed that love of the Mets and baseball to my son. He is 20 and coaches baseball just like his “old man.” Sometimes we don’t see eye to eye but the Mets always bring us back home. I try to pass on all of my dad’s wisdom to him and dabble in some of my own. My dad taught me how a dad should love his child with all of his heart. I try everyday to make him proud.

I miss my dad, like many of us do. However, on Father’s Day and just about every day, especially when I am hanging around with my son, I think about those days hanging out, eating a hot dog at Shea Stadium, watching Tom Seaver face Ferguson Jenkins or Juan Marichal leaning on my dad. I knew those days and everyday that I was the luckiest kid in the world.

Thanks Pop! Happy Father’s Day to all!

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    Father’s Day Brings Baseball Memories to Life

    Father’s Day Brings Baseball Memories to Life

    My love of sports came from my dad. He was an avid baseball fan, who spent much of his childhood at the Polo Grounds rooting for his beloved New York Giants, before they moved to San Francisco in 1957. In 1962, I wasn’t even born yet as the last of 6 kids, the Mets moved to town and the members of my household from that moment on rooted for the Amazin’s.