Al Kyte's Life Take-Aways

  Sharing Good Times

The stillness of the warm afternoon was suddenly interrupted by a wild whooping from the cabin where my uncle and dad were playing cribbage.  It was our dad’s voice as my sister and I had never heard it.  Not knowing what to expect, we ran to the sound and learned that he had just drawn a “29 hand”, the highest-scoring hand in cribbage that apparently occurs only once in 216,580 times.  As my dad relished his once-in-a-lifetime moment, my uncle was just smiling and shaking his head.  My dad loved playing cards with several men but spent far more of his leisure time with us.  His approach to discipline wasn’t always pleasant for me, so sharing good times added that all-important loving dimension to our relationship.  

One thing he and I shared was an interest in sports.  The old timers said my dad could have played major-league baseball, so I appreciated that he never put pressure on my performing well.  He simply provided opportunities to play and offered occasional suggestions.  He supplemented his income by working as the summer playground director at our local high school.  The summer I was 14, I tagged along.  My favorite game there was “Army Ball”, a modified version of baseball adapted to competition between two-player teams.  In a 9-inning game, each player batted at least 15 times and had frequent opportunities at fielding batted balls—much more action and fun than regular baseball.  The field of play was restricted to a narrow area of about 20 feet wide so that most balls might be caught by one of two players—the pitcher or the outfielder playing somewhere behind him.  Any ball swung at was an “out” if not falling within that narrow area.  If a ground ball got past the pitcher or was mishandled by him, it was a “single”.  If the hit landed in certain designated areas it was a “double” or a “triple”.  If it hit the window screens of the building beyond our field, it was a “home run” unless caught off the screen by the outfielder for an “out”.  If the batted ball went even farther onto the roof, it was “three outs”, because we had to stop our game to retrieve the ball.  With extra players challenging the winning team, we played all day, changing teams if one was winning too much.  This game was always fun for me, but most fun when my dad and I were on the same team.

Our lunch break included a walk to a nearby market where my dad would buy a cantaloupe and pint of ice cream.  With the melon cut in half and ice cream replacing the scooped out seeds, it made a special treat for us to share.  

He and I sat together some evenings, listening to programs on the radio, a few years before T.V.. Saturday mornings were my favorite time as my dad and I always got up early while my mom and sister were enjoying sleeping in.  He would make our breakfasts, and there was no hurry.  A quiet man, this was a time he would tell me stories from his past.  It was like he was opening a book to the adventures of a different world in which he had lived.  It was wonderful.  I felt so privileged to be invited into that.  I now realize how important such times were in providing opportunities to unwind, something even more needed in today’s stress-filled world.

I’ve learned that some of the best moments in life are those sharing activities we love with people we love, starting with family members.  People talk about getting to the causes of our cities’ problems, but I know from years of mentoring addicts and ministering to homeless people that the absence of good fathering has to rank high among those causes.  I have the utmost respect for any man who has survived the pain of cruel or negligent fathering to become a caring, nurturing father himself.  In Malachi, God says He will turn the hearts of the fathers to the children and the hearts of the children to their fathers.  I pray for that now more than ever.