Growing up in the beautiful town of Abilene, Texas in the center of Texas was great. The city is wonderful, the people are always nice, and there is always something to do. I couldn't have asked for a better place to grow up in. I do, however, wish I could say the same for my childhood.
While I was young, both of my parents were in the house. They were very religious, and instilled deep Christian values upon me. We would go to church every Sunday, bible school, and more.
When I was a five year old, my mother got a new job that demanded she work every Sunday. As a result, my father and I would stay home on Sundays, rather than going to services as we used to. Over the next few years, my mother and father grew distant from each other, and ended up separating when i was eight years old.
My mother assured me that they would be okay as a couple, but she was obviously telling me this to put my mind at ease. It took them another two years before they could really tell me what was going on, and my father would even stop by on occasion to make it look like they were still a happy couple. I knew this wasn't the case.
There was something good that came out of this, though. Between the ages of 8-10 I spent a lot of time in my room. I wasn't fortunate enough to have a television, but I did figure out how to use my radio. I turned the music up loud enough so that I wouldn't have to hear my parents argue. It was one day, though, that I was switching through the channels and I heard a different voice. I heard "it's three balls and one strike". Three balls? One strike? Sure, I remember playing with balls in my backyard as a kid. My dad and I use to play catch with balls, sometimes even a baseball as I got earlier. But that's all. So what were balls and strikes? What did they signify?
I kept listening and I heard more terminology: home run, strikeout, walk, ground out, fly out. I still wasn't sure what was going on, but I did gather enough information to realize I was listening to my first baseball game. My father always talked about Nolan Ryan when his friends were over. He talked the Rangers and sometimes he brought some balls back from the ballpark for me. I had heard about it, but I had never actually experienced it. Even just listening to the game kept me on the edge of my bed. Well, I was actually standing up right next to where the radio was sitting most of the time. But at the age of 8, I became a baseball fan.
It became a ritual. My dad would come over, I didn't want to hear my parents arguing, so I'd stay in my room with the radio loud, listening to the Rangers. My mom eventually bought me a hat, and I'd wear it all over the place. The joy I'd feel when the team won a game!
As a kid, baseball was more to me than a game. It was more to me than numbers. It was more than WAR and ERA+ (some of you may get a kick out of that). It wasn't even just something I liked. It was something that took my mind away from everything else. It took my mind away from my parents fighting. It gave me something to look forward, not hearing my parents fight, but listening to my Rangers play.
While I was young, both of my parents were in the house. They were very religious, and instilled deep Christian values upon me. We would go to church every Sunday, bible school, and more.
When I was a five year old, my mother got a new job that demanded she work every Sunday. As a result, my father and I would stay home on Sundays, rather than going to services as we used to. Over the next few years, my mother and father grew distant from each other, and ended up separating when i was eight years old.
My mother assured me that they would be okay as a couple, but she was obviously telling me this to put my mind at ease. It took them another two years before they could really tell me what was going on, and my father would even stop by on occasion to make it look like they were still a happy couple. I knew this wasn't the case.
There was something good that came out of this, though. Between the ages of 8-10 I spent a lot of time in my room. I wasn't fortunate enough to have a television, but I did figure out how to use my radio. I turned the music up loud enough so that I wouldn't have to hear my parents argue. It was one day, though, that I was switching through the channels and I heard a different voice. I heard "it's three balls and one strike". Three balls? One strike? Sure, I remember playing with balls in my backyard as a kid. My dad and I use to play catch with balls, sometimes even a baseball as I got earlier. But that's all. So what were balls and strikes? What did they signify?
I kept listening and I heard more terminology: home run, strikeout, walk, ground out, fly out. I still wasn't sure what was going on, but I did gather enough information to realize I was listening to my first baseball game. My father always talked about Nolan Ryan when his friends were over. He talked the Rangers and sometimes he brought some balls back from the ballpark for me. I had heard about it, but I had never actually experienced it. Even just listening to the game kept me on the edge of my bed. Well, I was actually standing up right next to where the radio was sitting most of the time. But at the age of 8, I became a baseball fan.
It became a ritual. My dad would come over, I didn't want to hear my parents arguing, so I'd stay in my room with the radio loud, listening to the Rangers. My mom eventually bought me a hat, and I'd wear it all over the place. The joy I'd feel when the team won a game!
As a kid, baseball was more to me than a game. It was more to me than numbers. It was more than WAR and ERA+ (some of you may get a kick out of that). It wasn't even just something I liked. It was something that took my mind away from everything else. It took my mind away from my parents fighting. It gave me something to look forward, not hearing my parents fight, but listening to my Rangers play.
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