The Bullpen Gospels - Dirk Hayhurst [84]
“The people who write that stuff don’t play the game, Mom. I do. If you are so concerned, then call me.”
“You’d just yell at me for getting into your business.”
“You are getting into it anyway, might as well get it from the source.”
“You know I don’t believe that stuff,” she casually lied.
“Yes, you do, and so do other people. Do you know what it’s like to be summed up by numbers and reports in the media? To be labeled? I can deal with the fact other people believe that I’m some kind of waste of space, but I’d appreciate it if you didn’t. You’re my mom.”
“I don’t understand why you get so upset about this. It’s just words.”
“You started the conversation off with, ‘I know you don’t like it but…’”
“Fine, let’s change the subject, then. Talk to me about something else.”
I sighed and shifted the phone from one ear to the other.
“What’s the matter?”
“Dad.”
“What about him?”
“Do you think Dad’s proud of me?”
“What?”
“Seriously, do you think he’s proud of me?”
“Sure he is. Why would you ask that?”
“Why can’t he say it then?”
“Dirk, your father can’t…He can’t say a lot of things anymore.” Her voice trailed away. I guess I didn’t stop to think about how many things he no longer said to her.
“I don’t understand that. Why can’t he just get past himself once in a while,” I pressed.
“You don’t need to hear him tell you things to know he cares.” She said it like a promise she hopelessly repeated to herself daily.
“He said that too, but what if I want to hear him say it. What about that? Maybe I just want to know I’m doing right by him, and I want to hear it from his mouth?”
She didn’t respond.
“Now you’re quiet too. Everyone’s quiet. I’m doing something so many folks would die to do, and it’s like he doesn’t even care!”
Still only silence on the other end of the line.
“Why can’t he tell me he’s proud of his son for grinding it out? Why can’t he just fake it once—”
“Are you done?” she interrupted. “I deal with this enough from him, I don’t need it from you. I’m sorry you don’t feel like he’s being the perfect father. I’m sorry things aren’t they way you think that they should be, but this is the way they are. So you are just going to have to get over it!”
Silence again, this time it was my turn. I spend more time in silence than I do in conversation with my parents.
I fought the urge to hang up. The cabbie looked back at me in his rearview mirror. I looked away from his eyes. Moments later, a calm, collected voice returned, “Honey, it doesn’t matter what you do, you can’t fix your father. He’s not right, and nothing we can do is going to change that.”
“I can’t accept that.”
“You don’t have a choice,” she said bluntly.
“Why?”
“Because some things aren’t simple to fix. Not even when you get promoted.”
I transferred the phone back to my other ear. I couldn’t think of anything else to say.
“So, have you met any girls this season?” More banal small talk.
“No.”
“Any good friends on the team?”
“…”
“If you aren’t going to talk then why’d you call?”
“…”
My brother’s rough voice rumbled in the background of the dormant line. Scratches echoed through the receiver as she moved her mouth from the phone to answer him. “I don’t know, where did you put them last?…Well look there…. No, I didn’t move them…. Why does your problem always become my problem?” She came back to our conversation with an exasperated tone, “I have to go, your brother can’t find his pants, and he’s got a meeting in a few minutes, and he’s panicking.”
“Fine.”
“Everything’s gonna be okay, Dirk, we are all proud of—I’m coming for Christ’s sake, put some underwear on, then we’ll worry about the pants! Gotta go, bye-bye.”
She hung up.
Chapter Twenty-seven
The first thing any player should do after arriving with a new team is meet the manager. Even if you’ve been called up and sent back down to a club where the coaching staff is familiar with you, go pay your respects. The skipper might say nothing more than welcome, or he might lay out his master plan and your part in it in four acts. He’s the manager; he can do what he wants. Some