July 30, 2010
I was over at my parents for most of the day after my classes. I try to go over there as often as I can for purposes of just letting them know I'm still alive. My mother cooks and then goes to sleep some time after, my brother messes around with his stereo and my dad relaxes watching the baseball game. I sit with him normally and wonder between the game and my nephew. While sitting with my father, we begin talking about values and material things. This all came up because it was the Rays vs The Yankees games and there was this guy there, Alex R. I think. He had his 600th home run hit to make till he matched Babe Ruth from the 1930s. Dad was annoyed with the fact they had to make special baseballs for this. He thinks it was just another way for the player (that's already getting paid 40mil a year) to make more money. He thinks sports players are over paid and need to go to people like firefighters and education. In the end it got me thinking, money is always going to be a hidden meaning behind most things. In te end if you like what your doing as a career go do it. Things like a home run baseball is something like a trophy, something you can remember your achievement over. Dad explained how he didn't need these things to remember, but some people like to see those things. I remember reading in a news article that Michael Jackson never kept one of his awards in his home because he didn't need to see them to know what he had achieved. I don't believe myself that you have to have those things to be happy in what you accomplished. I think my father is very stuck into the fact of reality rather then letting the sky have endless limits. But I understand he comes from the era that's nothing but hard work to get what you want in the end. Things like sports and creativity are the easy ways out. Somewhere along the lines of thinking all this, I began to feel teary eyed. Don't get me wrong, I love my father. He's very childish sometimes and goofs around a lot. Though sometimes, I think he's just so stuck in his own world he doesn't put himself in others shoes enough. We clash so many times of different subjects and people it makes me want to cry that he cannot grasp my world as I have his. I understand what he comes from, and from my point of view, its a sad place. I hope if he ever reads this that he knows I love him always, but I want him to believe in me. Believe in the things I see, feel, and try to do. I want my father to find that one thing in life he had as a child that would make him happy again today. I wish he would see the would through a child's eyes and find that world of wonder like we all had at one point.