I remember taking a little child from his mother’s arms and carrying him to the front of a congregation of Saints, there giving him a name and a father’s blessing. Now a piece of wood, a baseball bat, stands in the corner of my office to remind me of a special father-son relationship filled with so many great memories.
I wasn’t at my best in the meetings the following day, but I had a lasting memory to cherish. Of course we finished watching the last of the twenty-third inning to be certain the Giants would win 5 to 4. Then, in the first of the twenty-third inning, Willie came to bat and drove the ball over the center-field fence. Each time I suggested leaving, his response was, “Let’s watch Willie bat one more time.”
Now it was well after midnight, and the drive home was well over an hour. Let’s watch him bat once more.” The same response came after the eleventh, the twelfth, the thirteenth, and the fourteenth innings-and on up to the twenty-third inning. I said to my son, “We have a long drive home, and I have to get up early to catch the train in to the city for a meeting.” His response was, “Willie won’t be up until next inning. Willie’s record was four at-bats and zero hits.
The game was tied at 4 to 4 at the end of nine innings. We bought hot dogs, 7UP, and popcorn and settled in our seats to watch Willie Mays beat the Mets. I came home from work early that day so we’d have time to make the long traffic-filled drive to the Mets’ ballpark for the start of the game. My son had saved his money and purchased two tickets as his birthday present to me that year. On this special birthday, Willie and the Giants were in New York playing the Mets. We had left our favorite baseball team, the San Francisco Giants, and Willie Mays, who was, of course, their star. We had just moved from California to New York. My mind was flooded with memories of a special birthday that had occurred thirty years earlier. This bat was a symbol of many great memories. On the end of the bat was imprinted “Adirondack, Willie Mays’ Personal Model” with the actual signature of Willie Mays. I pulled off the white stocking, and then I understood why it was a perfect gift. My first reaction was, “A baseball bat at seventy years of age?”
Creating memories full#
What do you give a dad, at my age, when he already has a drawer full of new, unused socks, white shirts still in plastic wrap, and four racks full of ties? My son came forward and said, “At last I’ve found just the right gift for you,” and he handed me a baseball bat with a white stocking over the end. This is always a frustration for my family. Then she startled me with this statement, “At last you’ve made it to the seventies.”įinally the time arrived for the time-honored tradition of opening birthday gifts. My sister had brought back a very pleasant memory. He is your stake president, and he knows what calling is right for you.” A short time later I was called into the stake Young Men’s presidency, which led to an event where I met a beautiful young lady who soon became my wife. This puzzled me, and I sought out my mother to inquire why my father had never acted on the instruction. He never acted on the instruction-I was never ordained a seventy. The stake president happened to be my father. Puffed with pride, I returned home and informed my stake president the instruction I had received. As the interview concluded, I was instructed to go home and tell my stake president that I was to be ordained a seventy. The number of missionaries in those days was so small that those returning were given an interview by a General Authority. She said, “Remember when you returned home from your mission and you were invited to a post-mission interview with Levi Edgar Young, one of the Presidents of the First Quorum of the Seventy?” It started out with my sister reminding me how old I was by telling this little account. The evening was filled with stories and events that brought back a flood of memories. Attending were my wife, my children, and all of my grandchildren save one, who is in the mission field, my two sisters, my two brothers and their wives, and nieces and nephews. There in the presence of those who mean the most to me, my family, I had a very enjoyable evening. My sisters were already in Salt Lake, and they were the ones, along with my wife, who arranged the celebration. My brother felt it was important enough to drive all the way from Seattle to be with us. The family thought it was such a special event, they determined to organize a birthday party and invite all of the immediate family to join in. This summer I reached one of those time-dictated milestones in my life-the experience of a seventieth birthday.
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