this poem is (to me, anyway) kinda like a simple reminder that, even if we dont know it, those closest to us remember even our smallest accomplishments.

I knew a man who was my Little League coach
And also the world's best dad.
He helped me out when I was in the field
And encouraged me in every at bat.

But those careless summer days ended,
In what seemed to me all to soon;
For dad was diagnosed with a tumor on his brain
With nothing the doctors could do.

At his bedside, we talked a lot
Of our memories and games we had won.
Somehow we even got on the subject
Of my very first homerun.

Of course, he told me how proud he had been
And how much he loved me, too.
But then he said, "Stop by tomorrow,
I'll have something to give to you."

Next morning came and I stood at his side,
Tears streaming down my face.
"Don't cry, sweetpea," he softly said,
"For I'm going to a better place.

"When you get there many years from now,
We can play baseball together again."
Then he slowly, shakily reached over
And placed an old baseball in my hand.

"June 16th, 1980"
Were the last words dad had to say.
Then he looked up and smiled at me
And peacefully passed away.

The words written on that dirty old baseball
Are the ones I'll never forget.
In faded black ink said "Sweetpea's first homer:
The best Father's Day present I could get."

*~{*><*}MeLiSsA{*><*}~*