26 years and a day

harbarger theory: sons are a gift of grace

Twenty six years ago yesterday, I called my dear friend, Schuyler, and told him, "I now know what miracles are!" Our son ... our first-born child ... had been born and immediately wrapped me around his teeny-tiny wittle finger. I was instantaneously smitten and still am.

I grew up in a sports-loving family. My brothers loved to play and watch sports and still do. My dad was a star athlete and played and watched sports until his death. My mom has always been an avid sports fan and has done more than anyone's share of bleacher sitting over the years as she NEVER missed one of our games. But, not me. I played sports in elementary school because, that's what Harbargers did. I played football until the beginning of my Junior year in High School and I realized that, actually, I was terrible and would NEVER start. Unlike my family, I didn't and don't watch sports on TV. While I was still in my teens, my mom said, "I hope you have a kid who loves sports!"

So ... Nate enters the picture. I think his first word was "BALL!" Certainly in elementary school and maybe before he was old enough for school, he figured out how to tune in SportsCenter and would eat his breakfast watching it. No cartoons for this boy. He was, and is, fascinated (dare I say obsessed?) with sports.

I watched more sports in his first six years of life than I had ever watched in my lifetime up to that point. Cumulatively. We would sit and watch games. Sometimes, I'd have a book and he'd watch. But, we'd do it together. My favorite team has ALWAYS been whatever team my kids were on. I wore the colors. I watched every single game I could that they played in. I watched soccer, basketball, baseball, football, summer basketball, whatever. I learned to keep stats for baseball and basketball. I took him to pro games. I took him to college games. We watched lots of sports.

And it was worth it. It was worth it because I was with him doing what he wanted. I was participating in the things he loved. I've never regretted any of it. Not even the baseball games where I froze or the football games where I sat in the driving rain. Not one of them. I loved being a part of his life and sports were (and are) his life.

Today, he is the player/manager for a men's baseball team (Sacramento Braves ... and yes, I have a Braves hat!) and is an Assistant Coach for the Varsity Baseball team for Rio Americano High School (yes, I have a Rio Sweatshirt). It's still wall-to-wall sports for the boy.

I'm proud of him. He works hard and does well and does good at his work. He plays hard with his beloved Braves. He takes good care of his boys on his Rio team and teaches them baseball and life. He's a good friend to his buddies. He's a good boss. He's a good son. He's a good grandson. He is the man I hoped he would be.

Happy belated birthday, Nate. I love you.

(by the way, this is a pic of Nate and me whitewater rafting on the famous New River. Woo Hoo! Paddles UP!!)

harbarger theory: sons are a gift of grace