Nestled on the pristine North Coast of Lake Erie’s shoreline is a quaint little town named Bay Village. And in the direct center of that town, there is a recreational wonderland for kids named Cahoon Park. “Cahoon Park, ahh the memories!”

From the 4th of July carnivals, the giant sledding hill, the public pool and plethora of softball and baseball fields, this park has it all. I have great childhood memories from that place, more than I can even count. And it was the relaxing days of lazy summers spent there that I remember the most. Just enjoying time with friends and family there basking in the sun and throwing a ball around were some of my favorite experiences. I was truly blessed to grow up there.

One memory in particular I have revolves around a thrown together softball game. My dad liked to get us out of the house to do things, and on one rather nondescript sleepy Saturday in July he decided to rally all my sisters and brother together and grabbed some of our neighbor friends to play some softball at Cahoon Park.

To get to the park from our house only took a hop, skip and a jump. We passed by the Kristoff’s house to get my friend Mike to play, and the Whitleys where Jim, an older friend, agreed to come join us. So as we trotted across the street with bats, gloves and balls to the field we had 3 of my sisters, my brother Don, my dad, Mike & Jim, our mangy dog Buff and myself. That made 8 players for a fun low-stress game of pick-up softball.

I can still see the bag of softballs. It was an old tan canvas sack that held 10 slightly used softballs that we found out in the field of Cahoon Park left after the big softball tournaments in town. Before the game, we randomly divided the teams up with my dad designated as the all-time pitcher for both teams. When he was all-time pitcher we had a rule that the pitcher’s mound was also used as the place to throw the ball to get someone out at first and home.

So it was 3 on 4 with my dad pitching. Right before we began the game a neighborhood kid was strolling by and he asked if he could join us. Even though we never met the boy before, my kind father said, “Sure, jump on in! We need one more guy anyway to make the teams even. Glad to have you.”

This boy was a bit pudgy and you could tell he didn’t play much softball in his life. But no one cared, it was only a pick-up game, just for fun, a chance to enjoy the sun, and of course, laugh at my sister Steph. To be honest, I don’t know who won, or if we even kept score, but I do remember the first and only time this kid was at bat.

I don’t remember his name, but his batting stance was unforgettable.  He stood maybe just above 5′ tall, and he was as round as a Weeble-Wobble. Do you remember Weeble-Wobbles? “Weebles Wobble but they Don’t Fall Down!” Well, when it was his time to bat, he walked over and picked up the biggest and heaviest bat he could find. He could barely lift it, but I guess he figured if this huge bat would connect with the ball it would go flying way out into the field.

So after he took the bat, he heaved it up on his shoulder, walked up to the plate and kicked out some dirt to get some good footing. He must have watched too much Indians baseball with Mike Hargrove, the human rain delay, because it took him forever to get his batting stance how he wanted it. After he got his feet planted, he crouched into a small little ball, apparently, he wanted to create as small a strike zone as possible.

So there this round little hobbit of a boy squatted next to home plate. As he looked up to the pitcher, my dad was up on the mound just barely holding back a chuckle, and said, “So you ready? Here it comes.” The boy said in an angry tone, “Just pitch the ball already!”

Hmm, he was a deadly serious little guy. Maybe he was more of a slugger than we initially gave him credit for?

My dad’s first pitch came in a bit high. The boy said in a rather frustrated tone, “Ball One, come on, can’t you do better than that?” My ever-patient father smiled back, and said, “Okay, buddy. I will give you some better ones, just remember, we aren’t keeping balls and strikes, it is a pick-up game and we play until you hit it.”

The boy didn’t like it, “I play by the right rules, so if you walk me you walk me. That was ball one, get pitching!”

By this time my brother and sister were in the dugout trying not to bust out laughing at this diminutive boy’s sass. But also they were taken-a-back just a bit because rarely would anyone talk back to my dad like that. Didn’t the boy see that he was on the pitcher’s mound standing at an imposing 6′ 2″ with sun-bronzed skin and God-given biceps? Even though he was in his 50’s at the time, none of us kids dared challenge my dad.

But then again, we never had to because my dad had a gentle spirit by nature, and he found this short, chubby little guy rather amusing. So he got ready to pitch again. It was a perfect floater, arching right over the plate in the boys strike zone. The boy didn’t swing, and he also didn’t say anything.

“Was that a ball or strike?” My dad asked.

“You said we weren’t counting! And plus, I wasn’t ready. Give me another one just like it and I am going to smash it right over your head!’

So sure enough, my dad pitched another beauty, right over the plate! Swing, and a Miss! The boy could barely lift the bat off his shoulder, so naturally, his swing was way behind the ball. He missed it completely! My sister asked him, “Do you want to try another bat?”

“No, this bat is fine. C’mon pitcher, give me another one!”

This time my dad was smiling at the boy’s supreme confidence. When he released the ball for the next pitch you could see it was going to be a bit inside. And as it started crossing the plate the boy got scared it might hit him and he fell backward landing hard on this butt. I guess Weebles do fall down after all!

And when the boy crashed, out came a string of curse words and a blast of anger directed toward my dad, “C’ mon you dumb idiot, give me a good pitch! What the h____ is wrong with you?”

Wait, Wait, Wait! As I was standing out in the center field, I couldn’t believe my ears, and cringing I wondered, “What did that fool of a boy just say to my dad?” Never, ever in a million years would I ever say those things to my dad, nor would my brother, sisters, neighbors Mike & Jim, and even my dog Buff wasn’t that thick-headed.

My dad asked, “What did you say?”

“You heard me! Give me a good pitch you big stupid dummy!”

All of us where held speechless and spell-bound because we knew my dad was hot! He slowly walked off the mound toward the boy, gently took the bat off his shoulder, and said to the cocky boy, “Well, looks like the game is over and it is time for you to go home.” The boy saw the fire in my dad’s eyes, and he knew he crossed a line he shouldn’t have crossed.

He slowly slinked home, and I never saw that boy again.

My dad turned and said, “You all can keep playing, I need to go home and cut the lawn.” You could smell the smoke.

Well, needless to say, we stopped playing the game, and for some reason, none of us wanted to try to play another. I don’t remember anything else from that day, but I do remember the look in my dad’s eyes. I’m still a bit scared…

Why share this story?

I learned an amazing lesson that day. When you really get to know someone, you not only know what they like, you also know when you have crossed a limit with them. Knowledge of a person causes you to be sensitive to things that will bring fury, especially when that person is bigger than you, and kinder to you than you deserve.

I was reminded of this story as I began to read 1 John 2:4 & 6, it says, “The man who says, ‘I know him (Jesus)’ but does not do what he commands is a liar, and the truth is not in him…Whoever claims to live in him must walk as Jesus did.”

Do you know how many people claim to know Christ and still sin like it is not a big deal? If you are one of those people, I will submit to you that you don’t know him at all. 

This small hobbit boy did not know my dad. You could tell by his actions and words. And when he crossed the line, all of my dad’s kids knew the boy was swimming in dangerous waters.

Do you know when you crossed the line with Jesus? Do you even care? If you don’t you need to be really careful, because someday Jesus is going to come up to you and say “the game is over. It is time to go home.” 

But where is your home, if it isn’t with Jesus?