A Pitcher’s Mound

dadme

I guess you have to know my dad to appreciate this one.  But for those of you who don’t know him, I’ll introduce you to one of his character traits.  Dad loves his lawn.  I have countless memories of my dad working in the lawn.  Dad didn’t just work in the lawn, he “groomed” the lawn (remember those hand-held scissor tools used for trimming?  I was never so thankful for the invention of the weed eater!).

Anyway, our yard was pristine, beautifully manicured…except for one spot in the back.  There was a bare spot in the middle of our back yard where no grass would grow.  One day, someone visiting with my dad, who could obviously see that he took great pride in his yard, asked him why there was a bare spot in the back yard.  My dad’s response to him was simply, “Don’t you know a pitcher’s mound when you see one?”

You see, as much as my dad loved his lawn, he loved his son more.  Dad wasn’t raising grass, he was raising a boy.  And I for one, am thankful for his perspective.

What about you?  How’s your perspective?  Give it some thought.

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Comments 8

  • I really like the article and the illustration but I have one question. Who is the girl’s softball player standing next to Mr. Higginbotham?

  • Excellent, Steve. Great job.

  • I though about some possible comments, but all I could not bring myself to type them. So, anyways, nice pic!

  • Steve, I subscribe to your articles via email but coming to your site and seeing the picture of you & your dad and then reading the comments is SOOOOO much better!! God bless to you & yours. Look forward to the next Gospel Meeting with you!!!

  • Hey now Darlene,
    I’m not sure I know how to take your comment! The smartalick comment came from my brother-in-law. I assume that wasn’t one of the comments you had in mind when you said you enjoyed reading the comments. 😉

    Glad you found the website, and I look forward to some day being with you all again too.

  • Great story, very touching. In my yard, we had two dirt spots, one for brother and myself. We were both pitchers.

  • Steve, my Dad let me paint a “strike zone ” on the block wall,next to the garage entry door.When my fastball would stray high and outside thru the glass window he would grumble and go buy another window pane and replace it. But,when I was 12,out of the blue he brought home a brand new fielders mitt.It was his way of saying, even though my pitching was a costly proposition,he still approved…. I lost my Dad 16 years ago, but I still have that mitt, I wouldn’t trade it for anything !!!

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