The Good Dad by Jim Daly

Author:Jim Daly
Language: eng
Format: epub
Tags: ebook
Publisher: Zondervan
Published: 2014-03-01T00:00:00+00:00

Seven

The Promise of Time

I ADJUSTED TO LIFE WITHOUT DAD. MY HOME LIFE REMAINED a mess, but I began to find my place on the playground. I loved sports, and by the age of six, I already saw myself (and other kids saw me) as something of an athlete. At recess, I’d pick the teams. Here, at last, I had found one area of my life where I felt good. Sports became my sanctuary, and I loved playing them, particularly baseball, more than almost anything else at that time.

In the middle of July, just days away from my seventh birthday, I walked into the kitchen and found my father rummaging through the fridge.

“Dad!” I said. I hadn’t seen him in months. “What’re you doing?”

“Oh, I just came by to pick up something to eat,” he answered.

I don’t think he expected to see me. To this day I wonder how often he came by just to grab some food, leaving before anyone saw him there.

But in the moment, I didn’t think about the food he took. I didn’t think about the hammer or the pool. I didn’t think about anything other than the fact that Dad, my dad, had come home to see me again. My heart almost pounded out of my chest, and I couldn’t stop smiling.

And better yet, my dad smiled back. He might not have expected to see me, but he seemed glad at the sight. At least, so thought the almost-seven-year-old me.

“My birthday’s coming up!” I blurted.

“Is it?” my dad replied. And he paused for a second. “What do you want for your birthday?” he asked.

I shrugged my shoulders.

“Tell you what,” he said, leaning in a little closer. “Why don’t I bring you a mitt? A real leather one.”

If I had felt excited before, that was nothing compared to how I felt right then. The fractured Daly family didn’t exactly swim in cash. We didn’t have a lot of stuff, and a leather mitt would’ve been on a par with getting a PlayStation 4 today.

But considering my love of baseball, the promise seemed exponentially greater. A mitt! A leather mitt! It was as if my dad had read my mind and saw, not just a great gift, but the perfect one. I needed a mitt. I knew I’d use it every day during the summer. It’d make a huge difference for me on the baseball diamond, snagging grounders and tracking down fly balls. And each time a baseball hit the pocket with a soft thwap, maybe part of me would think of my dad and how he loved me enough to give me such a great present.

It was almost too good to be true. I nodded my head like a little wild man and smiled fiercely.

“Well, all right then,” he said. “I’ll come by on your birthday with your mitt.” And he left.

Leading up to my birthday party, I could think of nothing but that mitt. I imagined how it’d feel as I slid it on my hand, the rich smell of the leather, the sound it’d make when I’d thump my fist in the pocket.

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