Reconcile Magazine March 2019

Sometimes Words Speak Louder
My earthly father never said much. A man of few words yet I know he loved.
As a twelve year old little leaguer, I’d led the league in hitting but had not hit one home run. I knew my father was
proud of me for my hitting prowess, yet he sent messages of the thrill it would be to see me hit a home run.
My twelfth birthday just happened to fall on the day of our first all star game. I was the lead off hitter and on the first
pitch of the game, I drove a ball over the center field fence for my first home run. As I rounded second base I heard a
resounding voice yelling above the little crowd cheering, “That’s my boy! That’s my boy!”
I looked up as I rounded third base and my father, already with the ball in his hand was standing pounding the ball in
the air yelling, “That’s my boy! That’s my boy!”
In that moment I knew he was proud of me and loved me, not for the home run. The emotion of how he really felt
about me was being displayed for all to witness.
That was my Bar Mitzvah, my right of passage; my father’s approval with those words, “That’s my boy!”
Seven years later, my father and I were on a trip from Southern California to Fort Lewis Washington. I was now a
nineteen year old young man who had recently enlisted in the United States Army. My father decided to help me drive
my truck north to my permanent post.
32