Don't Hate the Player...Hate the Game (22 page)

The last time I’d seen my father I was seven. He was
on a four-day game stint in Atlanta and staying at a friend’s house
on Lake Lanier. He’d asked Mom if he could have me come and stay
with him. It was the longest I’d ever been with him. Up until that
point in my life, he’d drop in for a couple of hours at a time,
play with me a little, and then bail.

I remember being absolutely beside myself with
excitement as Mom packed up my clothes in my Power Rangers
suitcase. Even Jake was pumped about my dad’s visit. “Will you get
me his autograph?” he’d asked.

But as bouncing off the walls as I was, I didn’t
notice that Mom wasn’t sharing in my excitement. I would never
forget the look on her face when my dad came to pick me up in a BMW
convertible with a curvy blonde in the front seat. I might’ve been
a kid, but I did appreciate the fact Tiffany wore low cut shirts
and short skirts the entire weekend!

It was a whirlwind four days that would’ve been any
kids dream—going to the baseball park every day, staying up late,
going to the zoo, the movies, getting to swim in the lake, and
riding through the city with the top down.

My dad took me to meet the team, and I even got to
hang out in the dugout during batting practice. It was the first
time in my life someone said, “Damn, Joe, he’s the spitting image
of you!” I did look like my father, but it was something no one in
my family would ever acknowledge. Poor Mom—it must’ve been a double
edged sword to love someone so much who looked like someone you
hated.

I ate my weight in junk food. Unlike Mom, my dad
never harped on me to eat vegetables, and I got ice cream at every
meal—even if I didn’t clean my plate. It was absolute heaven, and I
didn’t want it to end. When it was time to go, I pitched a fit and
cried like a spoiled little brat.

My dad knelt down beside me. “Hey kid, don’t cry.
We’ll do this again real soon, I promise.”

I nodded my head, but I was unsure if I really
believed him. Mom came to pick me up at the lake house. Dad leaned
over and kissed her on the cheek and told her how beautiful she
looked. He said something about the two of them getting together
the next time he was in town, but Mom didn’t reply. Now that I’m
older, I realize what the douche bag was alluding to about getting
together. Yeah, nothing like a booty call with the mother of your
child.

On the way home, I talked ninety miles a minute,
filling my mom in on every detail—well, everything that wouldn’t
get me in trouble like the ice cream and staying up late. She would
smile and nod as I described every moment of the four days.
Finally, when I was finished, I looked over at her. Huge, silent
tears dripped off her face.

And then something turned over in me. I wasn’t mad at
Mom for crying at all my excitement. Somehow even at seven, I
realized how much he’d hurt her. She wasn’t trying to be
selfish—she was just a twenty-three year old girl still desperately
in love with the prick who’d knocked her up and dumped her.

The more I thought about it, I realized she’d been
the one who’d gotten up with me during the night, who’d rocked me
for hours when I was sick or cranky, who’d sing to me when I was
scared, and kiss the bruises to make them go away. She’d sacrificed
everything for me—her friends, her dating life, stretch marks…the
whole nine yards.

So I vowed then and there that unless my father
wanted both of us, I’d never speak to him again. Mom argued with me
over and over again. “Noah, Mommy is okay with you going to see
your daddy, I promise. Please don’t do this!” she’d beg when I’d
refuse his phone calls. She even forced me to talk to him a few
times, but Granddaddy told her it wasn’t a good idea to do that to
me.

Finally, my dad stopped calling me. He would talk to
Mom occasionally. So, like I did with everything else, I pushed the
pain deep inside. I turned to my Granddaddy and to my uncles, and
they became everything I needed—for a while. But I couldn’t run
anymore. I was almost a man, and I needed to face the skeletons of
my past.

When I got home, I found the house dark. I breathed a
sigh of relief to find the cheek pincher gone. There was a note on
the counter.

Noah,

Greg and I have gone to have dinner at the Country
Club and to finalize the menu for the

reception. There’s some leftover chicken casserole
in the fridge if you get hungry.

Love ya,

Mom

I was kind of glad I had the house all to myself. I
needed absolute quiet and privacy for what I was about to do.
Without turning on any lights, I padded down the hallway to the
office. On the desk was my mother’s black address book. Flipping
through the pages, I stopped when I got to the P’s.

My heart pounded in my ears, and my fingertips were
so sweaty I could barely dial the numbers. When I finished, I
shakily brought the receiver to my ear. He answered on the third
ring. “Hello?”

For a moment, I couldn’t find my voice. I sat
paralyzed in the desk chair, trembling all over like a little girl.
Get it together, dickwad
! I thought to myself.

Finally, I mustered my strength. “Uh, hey, you don’t
really know me, but this is Noah—your son.”

***

I’d barely eased to a stop in the Parker’s
driveway when Josh came sprinting up to my Jeep. He was outfitted
in a baseball cap, and he was wearing my dad’s jersey. I couldn’t
help but laugh at the way he was squirming all over like a
puppy.

“Hey, Little Man, ready for the game?”

“Oh yeah!”

Maddie came out onto the porch. “Josh, you better get
back here. You know what Mom and Dad said about putting on
sunscreen.”

Josh rolled his eyes. “All right,” he grumbled and
started back for the porch.

Damn, she looked fine as hell in her Sporty Spice
game mode attire. Her long dark hair was pulled back in a ponytail.
Praise God it was hot as hell as outside because she was wearing a
rather revealing tank top and short-shorts. I glanced down at my
crotch while thinking, “
Down boy, don’t even think about
it!”

Maddie started lathering Josh down with SPF 50—first
all over his arms and legs, and then finally, she took his cap off
and started on his bald head. I couldn’t help snickering.

“What?” she demanded.

“Don’t you think you’re overdoing it a little? He
looks like he’s wearing a cream colored toupee!”

Josh giggled, but Maddie shot me a death glare. “No,
I don’t think I’m overdoing it.”

“Okay, okay,” I said. I winked at Josh, and he tried
to stifle his laughter.

Once Maddie had sufficiently slathered two or three
coats of sunscreen on Josh, we were ready to go. I helped him get
in the back of the jeep, and then I held the door open for
Maddie.

“Thanks,” she said.

“You’re welcome.”

Finally we got on the road. It wasn’t long before we
were cruising down the interstate towards Turner Field. As the
skyscrapers came into view, Josh unbuckled his seatbelt and leaned
forward. “We’re almost there!” he squealed.

“Josh, put your seatbelt back on. It’s not like
you’ve never been to Atlanta,” Maddie ordered.

He reluctantly slid back and fastened it back. It was
kind of fun having someone so enthusiastic along for the ride. It
was certainly easing my nerves a little since today I would be
seeing my dad for the first time in ten years.

The call had set a lot of things in motion. It just
so happened that my dad had a few upcoming games in Atlanta. When I
told him about Josh, he offered to meet me at the stadium, and I’d
agreed. He said he would take care of the details like the tickets
and all, and then we could see each other after the game. Like a
true egomaniac, he’d picked the one he was pitching in of course
for us to come to.

As Turner Field came into view, Josh could barely
contain himself. “There it is! There it is!” he cried.

“Yeah little man, we’re almost there,” I said.

I exited off the interstate and followed the line of
cars to a parking lot. A guy flagged us inside, and I rolled down
the window and handed him a ten. By the time I pulled the Jeep into
a spot, Josh was already out of his seatbelt and impatiently
waiting for Maddie to get out.

“Geez, Josh, calm down!” Maddie cried, as she
unbuckled her seatbelt and grabbed her purse.

Her feet barely hit the pavement when Josh leapt out
behind her. “Come on,” he urged, as he hurried around the side of
the Jeep. I grabbed his hand before he started to cross the
road.

“Whoa, Little Man. You gotta hang tight and stick
with us, okay?”

He reluctantly nodded.

It was a typical scorching Saturday, and I was
already breaking into a sweat by the time we reached the ticket
window. “Yeah, I’m Noah Sullivan—Joe Preston has some tickets
waiting on me.”

The lady gave me a quick once over and then her eyes
widened. I guess she saw the resemblance. “Even though I can tell
it’s you, I need to see your driver’s license for
verification.”

I dug out my wallet and showed her. “Here you go.
Enjoy the game!” she exclaimed, as she slid the tickets out to
me.

I’ve gotta say the Sperm Donor really went out. He
scored us tickets in the air conditioned box where the extreme VIPS
usually sit. Now only did we have an excellent view of the field,
someone even came by to take our drink or food orders. It was
tight.

We’d barely eased into our seats when Josh hopped up
and pressed his nose against the glass pane. “Look there he is!” he
cried.

My dad was striding out of the dug-out towards the
pitcher’s mound. At the mere sight of him, my heart fluttered a
little in my chest, and my stomach tightened into knots. Geez, if I
was going to have this type of reaction to just seeing him, what
was it going to be like when I met him? Would I puke or piss my
pants?

The minutes ticked by to game time. Finally, we rose
for the National Anthem. The entire time I kept my gaze focused on
my dad. I couldn’t help it. I scrutinized every motion he made—the
way he brought his hand over his heart, the way his lip shuffled
back in forth like he was impatient about something. I couldn’t
help noticing that was one of the little quirks he had that I had
inherited too. I guess I was searching his face for all the answers
I desperately wanted to know about him—all the unanswered questions
that had piled up over the years.

It turned out to be an edge of your seat kinda game.
Then in fifth inning, my dad gave up a home run. “Uh-oh,” Josh
murmured, as the coach came out to the mound. “Think he’s done?” he
asked me.

“I don’t know. He might have a little left in him,” I
replied.

In the end, he did, and he managed to strike out the
rest of the batters. The next inning the Padres caught up, and my
dad’s sacrifice bunt helped them to take the lead. I don’t think
I’d ever enjoyed a baseball game so much. The final score was
Padres 5 and Braves 4. Josh danced around the box—which got us some
strange looks from some of the Braves’ fans.

When the game was over, an usher came up to us. “Mr.
Preston asked me to bring you down for a tour of the field.”

“Wow!” Josh exclaimed, as he shot out of his
seat.

Maddie grinned as we followed the usher out of the
box. “Wait right here, please,” he instructed as we got down to the
field.

“Okay,” I replied.

Maddie leaned over and whispered in my ear. “How are
you holding up?”

I jerked my gaze to meet hers. I didn’t know how she
was always able to tell exactly how I was feeling. It was freaky,
but it was also comforting. “I’m fine,” I lied.

“Hang in there. It’s going to be fine, you’ll see,”
she reassured me.

We watched as some of the remaining players were
being interviewed by news reporters, and a couple of players were
giving autographs. Because of our VIP passes, they came over and
talked with Josh and signed caps and posters.