The Pine Tar that binds

Saturday night I had custody of the tickets.

Room mate #1 had given himself a birthday present of season tickets for the Orioles. By default, they fell to me for use. I scrambled around and couldn't find anyone to go with me. So I went by myself.

Seeing as how the seats are out in left field, I was in prime ball catching area. Normally when I go down I like to be there for batting practice. Just in case one comes flying my way. Also gives me a chance to check out any hotties that could potentially be in the vicinity.

What I took notice to though, was a father who with about 30 minutes left in BP brought his daughter, somewhere around age 4 down to the wall to check out the action close up. A cute little thing with blond curly hair it was obvious she was excited not just by what was going on around her, but just by the fact that she was with her daddy.

The little scene, probably not even noticed by anyone else, got me thinking about my own father.

Our relationship, at best, has been strained over the last few years. Maybe a phone call every now and then (usually when he's done something to upset my mother) or dinner once in a blue moon. Nothing like what it used to be. As much as I hate to admit, for a good portion of my life I was a daddy's girl. We often spent our Saturdays firmly ensconced on the couch watching ABC's Wide World of Sports. I vaguely recall going to baseball games at the old Memorial Stadium in Baltimore and attending a Philadelphia 76er's game (Dr. J was still there, if that tells you how long ago it was). He introduced me to soccer and coached a few years. In high school he enthusiastically attended my field hockey games, although after four years he admited he still didn't understand what the heck was going on during my games.

My dad was the one I ran to when I skinned my knee. When it was time for me to learn to tie my shoes, he taught me. When I was having problems in school, he was the one to help. In the 9th grade when I didn't have a date for my first homecoming he put on a big show anyway, taking pictures of my friend Amber and I like we were the belles of the ball.

Then about five years ago, everything changed.

I blamed it on a major case of midlife crisis. A lot of stuff happened around the time he turned 50. My grandfather, who he was estranged from died. My godmother died not that long after. He became more withdrawn. We argued a lot, often going for weeks without talking.

Then the crap with my mom started. The on again off again with their marriage. Unlike my mother, I'm not exactly quick to forgive and forget. No matter what he did, or does for that matter, she would take him back. The time between our conversations grew and continues to do so.

Seeing that little girl with her dad made me change my mind about Father's Day. I wasn't going to do anything. Not even call. Then I started really thinking about my dad and how much I still want him to be a part of my life. How much I miss our trips to baseball games.

So Sunday, I called. We spoke just long enough for me to say hello...Happy Father's Day.