Recently I watched a documentary on the 1995 World Series. I always have a fond place in my heart for that series, because that was the first one that I remember Daddy, my brother, and I watching together. The maker of the documentary interjected some interesting footage into the segment on game five that I just loved.
In the sixth inning, Jim Thome came up to bat trailing by one, with two men in scoring position, one out, and Hall of Famer Greg Maddux on the mound. Thome, a big midwestern man with a jaw that looked like if you hit him in it, you'd hurt your hand, bad. As he approached the plate the camera switched to Jim's parents, parents of five, sitting in the stands. Mr. Thome was also a big man, and had the look of a lifelong working man. You know what I'm talking about, one of those middle-aged men who's about to retire, but he can still outwork any three of the young guys, and does so routinely. I bet he has a L'Amour or Cussler book next to his iced tea coaster on the end table next to his recliner. Next to him was Mrs. Thome. She looked like one of those women who would set a place for you at her table on the fly, and would continue to "help your plate", whether you wanted more or not. I hope you know exactly what I'm talking about. I looked at them and I saw two parents who worked hard and taught their kids to do the same, supported their son, went to his ball games (lots of ball games), taught him what they knew, and taught him his trademark humility.
They cheered as their boy stepped into the box, and Mr. Thome said "Come on, Jim. Get a good one. Hit one hard somewhere." Thome punched a single up the middle driving in two runs, giving Cleveland the lead. And the proud parents erupted: "Way to go go, Jim!" And Chuck Thome couldn't have clapped those big calloused hands with any more excitement. And they both received high fives from their neighbors in the stands.
In the bottom of the eighth, Thome came to hit again. This time he crushed a monstrous home run just a little to the opposite field. (He watched that one go, something he would later report that he was embarrassed that he did, and never did it again (Verducci). [Don't you love this guy?]). Once again, both parents went wild, and Chuck Thome could be heard yelling: "Get outta here!" over and over. He and Mrs. Thome hugged each other hard, laughing out loud, and gave high fives all around. And then that big man, put his cap and glasses back on, and yelled: "Attababy! Way to go!" And the corners of his mouth and the squint of his eyes told of the tears that were welling up.
Gentlemen, the training that we put into our children will come through. We've all been there, when we get into situations where things happen fast and the stakes are high. In those times our training takes over. "Like arrows in the in the hand of a warrior, so are the children of one's youth" (Psalm 127:4). A warrior's arrow goes where he means for it to go. What are we training our children to do? Are we even training them at all? In game five of the '95 world series, we saw a man brought to tears by the joy of watching his son do what he'd been trained to do. There's only one way to know that joy.
Verducci, Tom (August 16, 2011). "Thome reaches 600 with humility, grace and country power". SI.com. Time Inc. Retrieved October 14, 2011.