I looked at him and threw the ball to him. Shota, my 7-year-old nephew assumed a posture with a serious look. He missed the ball. While teaching him how to catch a ball, some memories flitted into my mind - about playing catch with my father. And an anxiety ran after the memories. "I wonder whether he will remember about this when he grows up." "Is he enjoying playing now?" "Then, what about my future son?" "Will he want to play catch with me like I wanted with my father?"
This summer I played catch with Shota. Boys are often taught sports from their fathers. I learned from my father how to catch and throw a ball. And I started playing shortstop on a team and got several gold medals. Now he is in a hospital suffering from a incurable disease. He lost lots of weight.
"Uncle, play catch with me. Uncle. Uncle." Shota loudly repeated, "Uncle" and ran towards me. "OK. But I need to get my glove. It should be in my room." Shota came to my parents' house to stay one night. He had expected to play catch with me before he came, and he brought his baseball set-a ball, a glove and a bat.
I opened the closet and grabbed my glove. Shota ran out and I followed him.
When I wore the glove, all my baseball memories came back - playing catch with my father and playing shortstop. I was lingering for a while just holding the glove. I was in my distant childhood memories. Then my nephew's voice brought me back to the present. "Hurry up" But his next words sent me back tomy memories. "Play catch with me." I used to say the same words to my father at Shota's age.
My father loves his job and he was almost never at home. He went to work before I woke up and came home when I was in a dream. So I don't really have many childhood memories of playing with my father. However, I clearly remembered that I had played catch with him. Even though we had played only a couple of time, that photographic memory was vividly alive.
In a distance my father and I stood, face to face. I threw the ball. He thew it back. We threw the ball to each other over and over again. And I asked him to sit down like a catcher and I pitched. Though his face seemed unable to hide tiredness, I, at that age, didn't care. One thing in my mind was how I can make this pleasing time longer.
Suddenly Shota pushed my back and said, "Let's go." Shota and I stood face to face. I put the glove on. He threw the ball, but the ball rolled in the wrong direction. I thew it back to him. He couldn't catch it. It was clear that he couldn't throw well or catch the ball. Well, I thought I could do that at his age. However now I think that my father must have thought the same thing about me. So I tried to teach him just like my father taught me. "When you catch a rolling ball, you have to put your glove like that. You got that?" "I can't do that. I'm not big enough. I'm still a child," he said.
As I looked at him and threw a ball, I was overcome by a sort of anxiety. Would playing with me become one of his good memories? Would my future son want to play with his father? What I saw was only Shota throwing a ball back with serious look.
However, Shota's words released me from my anxious feelings when I told him that we should go back home. "What? No! I want to play more." And when we walked in the house, he said, "Thank you, Uncle. I was pleased. Let's do that again." Moreover he told his parents about playing catch with me with a big smile.
Putting the glove back, I remembered about my father who might not be able to play catch again. I wished I could go back to the time so I could play catch with him. As time goes by, I will play catch with Shota and my future son like my father did for his son. Wishing for the time when I would grab it again, I put the glove away and closed the closet.
