What Dads Do

Clare said there were a lot of fathers at the Valpo camp who insisted on catching their pitcher-daughters.  It’s what dads do.

They also fetch food and hairpins, offer tips through the dugout fence and ride umpires unfamiliar with the strike zone.  On occasion, they can even be talked into coaching teams when asked by their daughters.

Clare didn’t mention if there were any fathers at the second camp she helped staff late that Sunday afternoon.  This one focused on teaching six-year olds how to hit off a tee.  “We never did that at Camp Dad,” a certain someone joked to her mother over the phone.

No, I took my daughter out front at that age and pitched to her with a wiffle ball.  Swing, swing, swing, was the idea; I threw the ball as soon as it came to me.  I figured that the quantity of pitches would shape the quality of the talent we were working on.  Right before Clare went into Mustang Ball, I switched over to a rubber ball.  Warning to all fathers in a similar situation:  This is not the way to go, unless you want to pay for broken windows across the street.

So, I started collecting real baseballs to put into a bucket for b.p.  Such was the camp that ran for twelve years, from our house to the fields at Baseball Alley and beyond.