I Was the Baseball Dad Who Almost Ruined It

I am going to tell you something that is hard to admit: I was that dad.

I was the dad who argued with umpires. The dad who shouted instructions from the stands. The dad who analyzed every at-bat on the drive home.

My son was eleven when he finally said something. We were driving home from a game he had played well in, and I was in the middle of explaining what he could have done better on a play in the fourth inning. He turned to me from the back seat and said: Dad, I don't want to talk about baseball right now.

There was something in his voice, not anger, but exhaustion, that stopped me cold.

I pulled over. I turned around. I said: I'm sorry. I've been making this about me, and it should be about you. Can you tell me what you need from me at games?

He thought about it for a moment. Then he said: I just want you to cheer. That's it. Just cheer.

I have been just cheering ever since. It is harder than it sounds. But it is the right thing.

My son is fourteen now. He loves baseball. I think he would have quit by now if I had kept doing what I was doing.

If you see yourself in this story, it is not too late to change.