Through White Sox, Father and Daughter Bond

[Linnwood]

April 2, 2010

Rhymes and Reasons for Father-Daughter Bonding

By Dave Revsine

 

“Daddy, what rhymes with Pierzynski?”

 

So goes the conversation in my house almost nightly from April through September.

 

“Mierzynski, Clearzynski, Jeerzynski,” my 8-year-old daughter, Meredith, continues. “ ‘Don’t Jeerzynski at A. J. Pierzynski.’ No, that doesn’t make sense.”

 

I say: “So why don’t you try A. J.? How about, ‘Pitchers need to pray when they’re facing A. J.’?”

 

“That’s dumb, Daddy,” she says. “Teerzynski, Weerblinski, Meerdynski. ...”

 

It is 7:30 p.m. Her 4-year-old twin sisters, Abby and Caroline, are in bed, and Meredith and I are enjoying an hour or so of watching our beloved Chicago White Sox. It is reminiscent of a ritual I had with my father more than 30 years ago: listening to Harry Caray and Jimmy Piersall narrate the exploits of Bill Nahorodny, Nyls Nyman, Ralph Garr and an assortment of other forgettable players who made up the Sox teams of my youth.

 

Back then, I wanted to know everything about baseball — the strategy, the stats, the history. I was fascinated by the game, and my father was a willing teacher, explaining the importance of hitting the ball to the right side after a leadoff double, and why outfielders shifted their position depending on the batter.

 

 

A part of me always envisioned sharing that wisdom with my son, but the X and Y chromosomes had other ideas. So, after 15 years of living away from my hometown, I am back in Chicago watching games with my daughter.

 

Meredith started watching the White Sox with me in the summer of 2008, I suspect, as a ploy to stay up later. At first, our conversation was a bit inane. “Daddy, who do you think is nicer, Jim Thome or Paul Konerko?” Or “Daddy, what would happen if the White Sox hit a million home runs in one game?” I tolerated it in the name of quality time together, but I wasn’t exactly devastated when her bedtime rolled around.

 

Then, a strange thing happened: Meredith started to really like baseball. The stats and the subtleties of the game are of little interest to her, but she is no less passionate than I was at 8. When she goes to bed, she switches from the television call to the radio while sifting through her Sox programs and collecting tidbits of information.

 

“Dad!” she’ll shout as I walk through the hall. “Did you know that Gavin Floyd made the Triple-A All-Star Game in 2007?”

 

If she falls asleep before a game ends, she greets me in the morning with a smile and asks, “Did the White Sox win?” I have to battle her for the sports section at the breakfast table.

 

Our Sox viewing has gone beyond the TV. She has accompanied me to several games with her pride and joy, hand-printed signs with slogans like “Hit It High, Jermaine Dye,” “Hit a Homey, Jim Thome” and “This Girlie Loves Buehrle,” in honor of the Sox ace Mark Buehrle. We had a couple of rough mornings during the off-season when she opened the newspaper to find that the Dye and Thome signs were obsolete because of the team’s off-season moves.

 

In 2008, after her first game at U.S. Cellular Field, a man sitting in front of us told her: “You are the best White Sox fan I’ve ever met. I can’t believe how much you know about the team.”

 

I recall my first visit to the old Comiskey Park, on July 20, 1975, my sixth birthday. A doubleheader sweep of the Brewers. My sign that day read, “No one’s frowning at Brian Downing,” which my father assured me was far more profound than the runner-up, “Wilbur Wood is really good.”

 

The Sox remained a constant through our relationship, culminating in their remarkable run to the World Series in 2005. That summer, while living in Connecticut, I took my father to his first games at Yankee Stadium and Fenway Park. We also went to Game 2 of the World Series against the Astros, a rain-soaked affair capped by the light-hitting Scott Podsednik’s game-ending home run. It was the last game we attended together. My father died 19 months later.

 

I can’t decide whether he would have been proud or horrified that on Jan. 20, 2009, I said to Abby and Caroline: “We get a new president of the United States today. Do you know his name?” and Abby looked at me and said, with a mix of hesitation and hope, “Jim Thome?” That response left me to ponder whether the priorities in our home are slightly out of whack.

 

Happily, we have not had to discuss steroids; the current Sox players have steered clear of scandal. And Abby is now aware of Barack Obama’s role in the world, as well as his affinity for the Sox.

 

As a new season dawns, I look forward to lazy summer evenings, sharing the game with Meredith as my father once did with me. I cherish her unique take on our favorite team.

 

“Nothing rhymes with Kotsay,” she complained last year after the Sox acquired the well-traveled Mark Kotsay. “They need to trade for people that rhyme.”

 

Dave Revsine is the lead studio host for the Big Ten Network.

 

http://www.nytimes.com/2010/04/04/sports/b...ll/04cheer.html

[MexSoxFan#1]

Nice article...I have a 5 month old boy that I just can't wait to bond with him over White Sox games.

[southsider2k5]

 

I can’t decide whether he would have been proud or horrified that on Jan. 20, 2009, I said to Abby and Caroline: “We get a new president of the United States today. Do you know his name?” and Abby looked at me and said, with a mix of hesitation and hope, “Jim Thome?” That response left me to ponder whether the priorities in our home are slightly out of whack.

 

Nice.

[knightni]

I remember when he was at ESPN in '05. He was the only person there who was a Sox fan and admitted as such.

 

 

 

 

[Tannerfan]

 

A great read.

http://www.nytimes.com/2010/04/04/sports/b...html?ref=sports

[SouthsideDon48]

How adorable.

 

If I ever have kids, I hope I have a daughter like that.

[mreye]

Thanks for posting.