Baseball has played a pleasurable part of my life since I was a child. Not because I played on a team; that wasn’t part of a girl’s upbringing if she went to a Catholic school in the ‘50s and ‘60s in Peoria. But even if sports had been offered, I’d likely not have made the team. Agility, speed and talent skipped over me leaving no tangible signs of sports ability.

My Dad was similarly passed over in the athletic prowess category, but he more than made up for the deficit with enthusiasm and interest in the game. Baseball was a passion for him. He knew statistics, trivia, basics, and anything else a devoted fan should know. His excitement was contagious. Even those rather blasé about baseball couldn’t help but be enthused because of my Dad’s obvious pleasure.

He took me to Wrigley Field and Busch Stadium, and delighted in small talk with fans around us. Anytime a ball was hit into the stands, he’d yell, “I got it” even if we were seated on the opposite side of where it landed. Always appreciative of food and beverage bargains, he acquiesced and paid the inflated prices when I was hungry. He didn’t complain, and I didn’t take advantage of his generosity.

Then there was the bathroom situation. He was keenly aware I didn’t know my way around a ballpark so he’d tell me to wait till the inning was over and he’d walk with me. He never wanted to miss a play when he was watching a game, but his kindness and consideration took priority.

I can still see my Dad preparing for his Saturday ritual of enjoying a televised baseball game. Lunch on a TV tray with crackers, cheese, sardines, pickles and maybe last night’s leftover side dish. Soda was the likely beverage. Not every Saturday found him in front of the television, but he did like seeing favorite teams. He would be beyond amazed at what today’s technology makes available for fans tuning in at home.

When he was driving or at his desk preparing work reports, he’d listen to the game on the radio. Sometimes the station would crackle loudly with static, but as long as he could hear the announcer, he was good. My Dad didn’t require perfection to enjoy something.

My interest in baseball waned as I became an adult and experienced other fond activities. But later my son became a Cubs fan, and my husband decided to make life more interesting by becoming a Cardinals fan. Typically, I’m for the underdog so I learned patience, diligence, faith and optimism when I started rooting for the guys wearing blue, and a firm belief in “there’s always next year.”

Initially my interest was rather weak, but then I got older and they got better. I’ve learned players’ first and last names, enjoy seeing fans fly the blue W, and was so excited when they finally won the championship that for decades was always out of their reach.

I rarely watch a televised game from start to finish, but nearly every time I tune in, I wish my Dad could join me. Not sure what he’d be more proud of, the Cubs’ successes or his daughter finally discovering the pure joy of baseball.