Chapter 3
GO TO YOUR KID'S GAMES
This is one of the areas of my life that I look back on with a sense of disappointment. Out of the countless football, basketball, and baseball games I played over the course of my life, my parents only attended a small percentage—I’d estimate less than 10%.
Growing up, playing sports (especially baseball) was by biggest passion. When I say I was the star of my baseball team, I mean, I really stood-out in the sport. Feel free to check my website for the many newspaper clippings I’ve uploaded. I used to feel a rush of energy as I walked to the plate, hearing the parents of all my teammates screaming my name and getting excited about what I had the potential to do.
I bonded with most of these parents, and they all “adopted” me into their lives, taking me to-and-from games and practices. I didn’t really feel the sting of my parents not coming to my games until much later in life. While I was playing, I was just focused on doing my best, and out-performing the competition.
Now that I look back, I often feel resentment for my parents showing little interest in supporting something that was so important to me. I often ask myself, How could a parent not want to be at their kid’s events? What on earth could be more important than that? It’s easy to fall into the trap of “feel sorry for myself syndrome,” but mostly, I think about the other parents, and wonder what they were thinking during this phase of my life. Aww. Poor Brandon. He’s such a talented player, and his parents aren’t here to witness any of it.
I tried my best to rationalize their lack of presence in my life, but really, there’s no excuse for it. I’ll likely have to deal with similar feelings, 16 years from now, when my daughter (who was put up for adoption) comes asking me the same questions. I’ll expand on that incredibly complicated issue in Chapter 64.