Teach
12-28-2013, 05:45 PM
The chair in the doctor's office was plush and comfy. It was a far cry from the hard wooden seats my father and I would sit on at Fenway Park. I scanned the covers of the magazines on a nearby table. I spotted an old copy of SI. It was either that or "Field and Stream."
As I'm reading this article on Sammy Sosa, the door to the doctor's office opens. It's his receptionist. "Mr Lee," the woman says, "Yes," I reply. "Dr Smallwood will see you now." I remember standing at the entrance to this large office. There was a desk right in the middle. Seated in a chair behind the desk was a thin man with a dark mustache. He says, "Please come in, Mr. Lee. Please, sit down."
No, this is no ordinary doctor. Dr. Smallwood is a psychiatrist. Just then, Dr. Smallwood says, "I understand from our phone conversation that you're here to talk to me about your late father and your plans to become a play-by-play baseball announcer. "Yes, that's right, doctor," I reply.
"Hmm," Dr. Smallwood begins. "When did all this begin? I mean when did you get this idea of becoming a play-by-play announcer?" he continued. "How far back do you want to go, doctor?" I reply. "As far back as you'd like," he answers,
"Well, I was about five years old," I said. "My family had just moved from New York City to New Bedford, Massachusetts. Oh, I had wonderful memories of my father taking me to play catch at nearby Buttonwood Park. He'd also pitch to me. Those were wonderful childhood moments," I added.
"Tell me more about your relationship with your father and baseball," Doctor Smallwood commented. "Well," I said, "the best way to describe my feelings... Did you ever see the movie "Field of Dreams?" I asked. "Yes, I did," Dr. Smallwood replied. "Well, do you remember the scene where father and son are playing catch on that diamond in the Iowa cornfields. There was this line in there where John Kinsella says to his dad, "You wanna have a catch?" His father replied, "I'd like that." "Well, no sooner had that line been spoken that I started bawling like a baby. Tears were streaming down my cheeks like Niagara Falls. I hadn't cried that much since my Dad had passed away ten years earlier.
"Oh, I could go on," I continued. "Please do," Dr. Smallwood said. "Well, when we moved to Boston, my father went to all my Little League games. He'd frequently take me to Fenway Park. When we weren't at Fenway, we'd listen or watch Red Sox games together. Sports in general, but baseball in particular, was our passion. Our glue. As I look back, our greatest bonding moments --- father and son --- centered around the game of baseball."
"Mr Lee," Dr. Smallwood said. "If I may interject," he continued. "So you're very serious about becoming a baseball play-by-play announcer," he added.
"Have you ever given any thought as to why you're so consumed with becoming an announcer," he went on. "I have given it some thought," I replied. "I love baseball," I continued. "I knew that I didn't have the physical skills to become a professional ballplayer so I thought one way that I could feel a part of the game was to become an announcer." I added. "Mr Lee," Dr. Smallwood said, "this all may be very true, but I believe you're response is too simple. I believe there is a much more deep-seated reason for your quest to become an announcer."
At that moment, I could feel a sense of tenseness come over me. It was as if I was about to turn the corner and enter a new building that I had never visited before. I could feel my mouth becoming dry. Dr. Smallwood continued, "Mr Lee, I believe you have a deep-down need to please your late father. You wish to gain his acceptance. Even though he's been dead now for many years, you still love him and have this pressing desire to fulfill his wishes for you. He brought baseball into your life," Dr. Smallwood continued. "By your own admission, baseball was the glue that bonded father and son. Yet, you may feel, in a deep-seated way, that you have somehow failed your father. You've let him down. In so many words, Mr. Lee, you're still trying to please him."
It is then that Dr. Smallwood shifted gears, "Mr Lee, didn't you tell me on the phone that you recently won an announcing contest, and that the one person you wanted the most to be with you who couldn't be there was your father. How much he would have enjoyed it, you said. How proud he would have been." At that moment, tears began streaming down my face. "There's Kleenex on the table next to you," Mr. Lee.
"Mr. Lee," Dr. Smallwood continued, "Not only were you pleased at winning the contest, But you were fulfilling his dream for you. You never wanted to let him down. You always relished in his acceptance. What greater acceptance... What greater love could there be than fulfilling his desires for you through your mutual love of baseball."
"Unfortunately," Mr. Lee, "I see that our 50 minutes is up. If you'd like to continue this discussion, please give my receptionist a call. Thank you. Good-bye."
As I'm reading this article on Sammy Sosa, the door to the doctor's office opens. It's his receptionist. "Mr Lee," the woman says, "Yes," I reply. "Dr Smallwood will see you now." I remember standing at the entrance to this large office. There was a desk right in the middle. Seated in a chair behind the desk was a thin man with a dark mustache. He says, "Please come in, Mr. Lee. Please, sit down."
No, this is no ordinary doctor. Dr. Smallwood is a psychiatrist. Just then, Dr. Smallwood says, "I understand from our phone conversation that you're here to talk to me about your late father and your plans to become a play-by-play baseball announcer. "Yes, that's right, doctor," I reply.
"Hmm," Dr. Smallwood begins. "When did all this begin? I mean when did you get this idea of becoming a play-by-play announcer?" he continued. "How far back do you want to go, doctor?" I reply. "As far back as you'd like," he answers,
"Well, I was about five years old," I said. "My family had just moved from New York City to New Bedford, Massachusetts. Oh, I had wonderful memories of my father taking me to play catch at nearby Buttonwood Park. He'd also pitch to me. Those were wonderful childhood moments," I added.
"Tell me more about your relationship with your father and baseball," Doctor Smallwood commented. "Well," I said, "the best way to describe my feelings... Did you ever see the movie "Field of Dreams?" I asked. "Yes, I did," Dr. Smallwood replied. "Well, do you remember the scene where father and son are playing catch on that diamond in the Iowa cornfields. There was this line in there where John Kinsella says to his dad, "You wanna have a catch?" His father replied, "I'd like that." "Well, no sooner had that line been spoken that I started bawling like a baby. Tears were streaming down my cheeks like Niagara Falls. I hadn't cried that much since my Dad had passed away ten years earlier.
"Oh, I could go on," I continued. "Please do," Dr. Smallwood said. "Well, when we moved to Boston, my father went to all my Little League games. He'd frequently take me to Fenway Park. When we weren't at Fenway, we'd listen or watch Red Sox games together. Sports in general, but baseball in particular, was our passion. Our glue. As I look back, our greatest bonding moments --- father and son --- centered around the game of baseball."
"Mr Lee," Dr. Smallwood said. "If I may interject," he continued. "So you're very serious about becoming a baseball play-by-play announcer," he added.
"Have you ever given any thought as to why you're so consumed with becoming an announcer," he went on. "I have given it some thought," I replied. "I love baseball," I continued. "I knew that I didn't have the physical skills to become a professional ballplayer so I thought one way that I could feel a part of the game was to become an announcer." I added. "Mr Lee," Dr. Smallwood said, "this all may be very true, but I believe you're response is too simple. I believe there is a much more deep-seated reason for your quest to become an announcer."
At that moment, I could feel a sense of tenseness come over me. It was as if I was about to turn the corner and enter a new building that I had never visited before. I could feel my mouth becoming dry. Dr. Smallwood continued, "Mr Lee, I believe you have a deep-down need to please your late father. You wish to gain his acceptance. Even though he's been dead now for many years, you still love him and have this pressing desire to fulfill his wishes for you. He brought baseball into your life," Dr. Smallwood continued. "By your own admission, baseball was the glue that bonded father and son. Yet, you may feel, in a deep-seated way, that you have somehow failed your father. You've let him down. In so many words, Mr. Lee, you're still trying to please him."
It is then that Dr. Smallwood shifted gears, "Mr Lee, didn't you tell me on the phone that you recently won an announcing contest, and that the one person you wanted the most to be with you who couldn't be there was your father. How much he would have enjoyed it, you said. How proud he would have been." At that moment, tears began streaming down my face. "There's Kleenex on the table next to you," Mr. Lee.
"Mr. Lee," Dr. Smallwood continued, "Not only were you pleased at winning the contest, But you were fulfilling his dream for you. You never wanted to let him down. You always relished in his acceptance. What greater acceptance... What greater love could there be than fulfilling his desires for you through your mutual love of baseball."
"Unfortunately," Mr. Lee, "I see that our 50 minutes is up. If you'd like to continue this discussion, please give my receptionist a call. Thank you. Good-bye."