There Ain't No Bigger Fan

I was driving home tonight and heard a song say this, “He looks up from second base. Dad's up in the stands. He saw the hit, the run, the slide. There ain't no bigger fan.” It got me a little bit in the car, but now just writing it out…tears man.

I know my dad’s a huge fan of mine in my mind, but I’ve always had trouble feeling that. Picturing little me standing on second base, I wouldn’t have had the same affection that the song captured. That father son bond. That he’d miss a plane for me. That I knew he believed in me and supported me. Those ideas bring up powerful emotions, because that’s not what I felt growing up.

Now, in no way do I want to bash my dad. I’m not saying any of this to blame him or my mom for their shortcomings as parents. Their stories created the parents they would become and in plenty of ways they did well. It’s not out of judgment that I write this, but out of me trying to make sense of who I am now as a result of the way I was parented.

I did an exercise from my artist’s way book that broke my life down into 5 year increments and listed the biggest influences during each five year stretch. Obviously, the parents would be the big one for those first five years. And what I noticed was that I never had confidence in myself. I never knew that my dad was my biggest fan. I always felt inadequate. I always wanted to be like my good friends, never recognizing my own greatness.

All along people have loved me and complimented me, but I couldn’t hear the good things people said. They were drowned out by my Censor, as my book calls it. That little voice that confirmed the belief I started life with…that I was a piece of shit.

Kids need people telling them what they’re good at. Encouraging them. Putting a comforting arm around them when they fuck up. I was smart and funny and mildly athletic, but without the affirmations of my parents, I’ve continued to struggle believing that.

The Arist’s Way has me saying “I, Matthew Blake Atkinson, am a brilliant and prolific writer.” It’s always been hard to accept stuff like that, but the cool thing is I can now. This 5 year stretch I’ve been influenced by people who I really feel like are my biggest fans…my therapist…good friends…and especially my kids.

My therapist talks about reparenting myself as I parent my kids. Giving my son that look that I saw that great kick in soccer and him giving me the look back that says he knows I’m crazy about him. I want the kids to know that they’re hilarious. And smart. And creative. And they don’t have limits. Really, they seem to be better at teaching me that they can do anything than I am at teaching them.

My first full year of baseball I was awful. I was so scared of the ball…completely lacking in confidence. I still can picture all four hits I had that season. My parents were out of town the week I had two of those hits…a swinging bunt and a grand slam. I got a clean single at some point during the year, but don’t remember any kind of moment like the kid had with his dad in the song.

Finally, my last game of the year came. I had batted leadoff most of the year even though I mostly either walked or struck out. I was dropped to the bottom of the lineup, even behind the kid who used to pick dandelions in the outfield.

My dad would later tell me that he thought about not coming to my last game. He didn’t know what to say, what to do. He thought maybe taking the pressure off by not coming to the game would help. But, that’s not what I needed. I needed the dad who would drop everything to watch his son play ball…who couldn’t wait to get home from work to have a catch with his beloved son. The dad who made sure his son knew that he craved time with him.

I have no idea how I did it, but somehow I found confidence in myself and ripped a triple off the wall. My dad isn’t in that memory. I wish he was. And I hope to be in my son’s memories…his triumphs and his failures…just a constant source of support for that little guy.

I know my dad loves me as much as I love my boy, but because I couldn’t feel that love I’ve battled hard to find my way. And that’s what makes this stretch of life so sweet for me. That same confidence I found in my last baseball at bat, I have in life these days. I listen to the voices that speak the truth and shut out the voices that try to keep me down.

And I think writing is my adult equivalent of that little kid standing on second base, looking up into the stands with that expectant eye that says, “Did I do good Daddy?” knowing I’m going to hear “You did great son. You did great.” even if I have to say it to myself.