Sunday Morning Side Walk: A bye and a goodbye
Every so often, life presents us with moments that pull us into reflection. Recently, I prepared for a trip to Oakland to meet my two grown sons for the last homestand of the A’s at the Coliseum. My sons, both lifelong baseball fans, had been with me through the highs and lows of the game, and this farewell to such an iconic stadium felt like a full-circle moment.
My oldest son had been there just two years old when the A’s were contenders, caught up in the magic of the World Series. The joy in his eyes that day mirrored the excitement I felt walking into the Coliseum, a place that had witnessed countless thrilling moments. It was fitting that we would gather again as adults to honor the end of an era.
With the Oregon football team on a bye week, it was the perfect opportunity to step away from the usual game-day routines and immerse ourselves in this shared experience. As I flew down, memories flooded my mind: late nights in the backyard, our voices echoing as we practiced baseball skills, and the countless games we watched together. Those moments were the roots of our bond, just as baseball has long been a tapestry woven through our lives.
At the Coliseum, the atmosphere buzzed with nostalgia. The last homestand was a celebration, a bittersweet reminder of the many games that had played out within those walls. We settled into our seats, surrounded by fans who, like us, had come to witness the end of a legacy. As the players took the field, I felt a wave of emotion wash over me. The game mirrored life in so many ways: the anticipation of each pitch, the thrill of connection, and the heartbreak of missed opportunities.
Baseball, much like life, teaches us about resilience. We’ve all faced our share of challenges—the slumps, the losses, the struggles to find our footing. Watching my sons, now grown and carving their own paths, I couldn’t help but reflect on the lessons we learned together. Every strikeout we’d celebrated or lamented had shaped our understanding of persistence and hope. Just as the A’s faced the inevitable, we too navigate our transitions, always looking for the next win.
As we cheered for the A’s, I noticed my sons exchanging stories, laughter punctuating the air. It struck me how those moments—simple yet profound—are what make life rich. Each game, each season, teaches us about teamwork, family, and the importance of cherishing what we have while we have it. This trip, this game, felt like a culmination of our shared experiences, a reminder that while the A’s may be leaving Oakland, the memories will forever remain.
In that stadium, under the fading light of day, I realized how intertwined our lives have been with the game. The highs and lows of baseball reflect the journey of our family—filled with challenges, joys, and the unpredictable nature of what lies ahead. And as I watched the final pitch of the game, I was grateful for the chance to share this day with my sons. I don't think it mattered much to me that the A's lost 10-0; this day was about more than a final score of a single game. It was a celebration of not just baseball, but of our lives together, each moment a cherished memory, each cheer a reminder of what it means to be a fan, a father, and a family.
As we walked away from the Coliseum, I felt a sense of closure—not just for the A’s, but for our shared history. Like the final out of a game, it marked a transition, but it also set the stage for new memories to be made. The game continues, and so does our journey, each day a new opportunity to learn, to connect, and to celebrate the time we have together.
