I've been playing catch all my life. Baseball was my first belief. My father taught me my first truths. There are pictures of us pitching the ball back and forth as well as other photos of a proud father behind an adoring son with broad smiles adorning their faces and mitts hanging from their wrists.
I would count the seconds waiting for my father to come home from his eight-to-five job so we could toss the ball in the backyard.
I continued the tradition with my two younger brothers Mark and Matthew. I started a family later in life, but I maintained the ritual. I have four sons: Xavier (18), Guillermo (16), Francisco (8) and Jesus (2). Xavier and Guillermo are from my first marriage, Francisco is my step-son and Jesus is a product of my present marriage.
I haven't played catch with Xavier and Guillermo in several years since their mother and I divorced. I don't think a day passed when we were together that we didn't grab our mitts, a bat and ball.
Francisco is my partner these days. Of my four boys, he'll probably be the one most likely to heed my advice and emerge the best athlete of the quartet. We are compensated for our efforts in strange ways. Then these is Jesus who caught his first football the other night and is kicking the soccer ball with authority.
There is much to be said for Zen and meditation, but when I'm searching for peace and liberation, I'd just as soon play catch with one of my sons and remember my old man.
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