The Simple Delights, Blog Post 2

I decided to answer the discussion question that asked if I knew anyone with "Russell's gardener's happiness" from The Conquest readings. It was in chapter 10 and it focused on the 'simple delights' that can be found in life. While reading this chapter, I had already pictured someone who reminded me of the gardener, that is, finding happy in the everyday, possibly not joyous activity. My family is a baseball family, and have always played and been fans of baseball. My uncle played college ball for Georgia Southern while my father played ball at Stetson University and received minor league offers to pitch after college. He and my uncle chose to start families and soon my older cousins and I began to play baseball as well. My cousin Richard, (27) played until he threw his arm out his senior year of high school, but now, after rotator cuff surgery, plays in a summer league in Atlanta. His younger brother Russell (25) was behind the plate until his senior year of high school, but he just didn't choose to pursue it. I (22) pitched through my senior year and actually went to the state championship with a West Georgia private school my junior year. I know it seems like it's rambling, but my point is that, for the most part, everyone left it behind after high school/college not because we didn't love it, but because there were other important things for us. All of us loved playing baseball, but my dad stands out because he was literally my coach until he passed away at the beginning of my senior year of high school. He would show me the ropes young and let me decide if I was interested in baseball at a young age and when I became obsessed he coached and taught me along the way. Naturally I wanted to pitch like my father did and he taught me everything he knew, even how to throw a knuckle-curve instead of the regular curveball in an attempt to save my arm from giving out like so many others pitchers (injuries come from bad mechanics and to many whipping motions on your wrist, elbow and shoulder). Before you get to middle school and high school you can only play in the recreational leagues in your county and my dad was always picked to help coach so I always had him there guiding me, if even from the dugout. Once I got to 5th grade I was in a Christian private school that was just beginning in West Georgia. My father wasn't deeply religious and didn't really want to be a head coach but when they asked him he agreed because he wanted to help me be the best I could be. He coached us to a State Championship my junior year but we sadly lost due to injuries during the game.

This is my pops.

I have gone on about the story but it is simply to show that my father found a simple happiness in coaching something we shared, even though it was something he would have to do after he worked all day. He always showed me a love for the game even when he was probably tired from work he always demanded a deep passion for the game. I know it may sound weird to someone who doesn't know baseball, but there is most definitely a way to play passionately. To have the passion and to strive to teach it, even when it's coaching a small private school or even just in the backyard to your son who may or may not grow up to enjoy it. I owe some of my favorite memories to baseball from playing to watching the Atlanta Braves at Turner Field in Atlanta on Sundays. It seems that this simple happiness that came from coaching and sharing his knowledge after working all day really did delight my father.

Happiness Gene Blog 1