My oldest is about to head off to college in just a few weeks. And I’m not ok. Cue up the Jelly Roll song. I’m currently a giant ball of emotions, what ifs and regrets, with heavy doses of extreme excitement.
As this final summer of childhood rages on, as I do my best to push back against time, I’ve been hit with some stark realities. Mainly, I’m needed for less and less as the days go by. It’s par for the course, I guess, but it sure doesn’t feel great.
Hanging out with my 18-year-old now requires a calendar entry – an appointment, per se. Before a recent hang, I asked what he wanted to do. A movie? Dinner? A trip to Top Golf?
No, he said. “Let’s just have a catch.”
Well, thanks a lot, kid – just take those emotions and really put them through the wringer with those five simple words.
Let’s just have a catch, he said. My G-d.
The author’s 40-plus year old baseball glove. (courtesy)
So I loaded the car with our gloves and some baseballs. I picked him up from work and we eventually found a baseball field. And there we were – me with my Wilson George Brett model from the 3rd grade – my trusted companion for the last 43 years!
And the emotion tugger with the custom-made Rawlings I made for him before he was born. It has his name stitched into the side. Funny: no one ever asked me what would have happened if he turned out to be a lefty.
And then we had a catch. The kid’s arm is not too shabby! I don’t know how long we were throwing, but it was a little hot and I wore the wrong footwear (slides). I was sweaty and my arm was getting tired. I was getting close to calling it, but then I heard a loud rumble in the sky. I looked up and around and there she was: a Minnesota Air National Guard C-130. It flew right above our heads and made a gracious turn as if it was waving to us. I stopped the catch and made sure that we took a minute to acknowledge the moment.
My dad was a flight engineer on C-130’s in the late 1950s and early 1960’s. Technically the same plane but now fitted with modern technology and conveniences.
I know that Jews have very differing opinions of the afterlife and none are definitive. Is there a heaven? Do souls never die? I honestly haven’t thought much about that until recently. What I do know is that the plane flying over my head at that moment was not a coincidence. And it’s the third time this has happened. The last time was on Father’s Day 2025, when a C-130 flew right above my house as I was playing wiffle ball on the front lawn.
When I was a kid, my dad always had two jobs. And when he would come home, more often than not, I’d ask him to have a catch in the backyard. Most of the time he would oblige – but these were never long catches. It would be a few minutes before my dad would tell me he was tired and we would go in. I remember being upset a lot that it would end so abruptly. And I remember vividly thinking that my dad was just too old. It never dawned on me then, as a kid, that he was just exhausted.
In the opening monologue of my favorite movie “Field of Dreams,” Ray Kinsella says: “I never forgave him for getting old.” That line stuck with me for years and is the reason why that final scene causes the waterworks for me and tons of other fathers and sons.
The C-130 flying overhead was my dad telling me to suck it up and to keep throwing with my soon-to-be college freshman. I am certain of it and no one can convince me otherwise.
So I did for a while longer – my shirt getting super sticky and my shoulder tightening with every toss. I’m so glad I kept throwing. It’s the happiest I’ve felt in a long time.
My kid still wanted to have a catch with his old man.
I don’t know if there will be room or a need for that custom-made Rawlings at NYU in the East Village, so I think I’ll just have to hold onto it for now.