June 10, 2001|By Albert Belle
I WAS BLESSED to grow up with parents who possessed different strengths and skills. Mom was and still is the "glue" of the family, but Dad was the enforcer and "silent pillar of strength." Mom encouraged academics and culture, while Dad always promoted athletics. Both gave my brother and me all they had.
My Dad loved playing baseball. He coached the sport at the high school level. He introduced me to the game when I was in the second grade. He taught me all the basics: how to hit, run the bases, and pitch. He threw me countless baseballs over the years. Along with my mother, he came to nearly every game I played. As Father's Day approaches, here are some of my baseball moments with Dad that I'd like to share.
As I am poking my Dad through the covers early every Saturday fall morning during my younger years, I say, "Dad, are you ready?" Dad looks up, still half asleep and nods his head to say yes. My brother and I go outside and pack the car with all our baseball gear. Everything is in place, even our homemade pitching screen, which is sticking out the trunk. Dad soon comes outside, checks the screen, grabs his favorite hat off the garage shelf and off we go to hit. I really thank Dad for those early-morning batting sessions. Although he worked a second job on Fridays and would have enjoyed extra sleep on Saturday mornings, he always got up and took us to practice.
To this day, I believe my late-night batting practices during my high school years were what made the difference in helping me arrive at the Major Leagues. After high school baseball practice, I would go home, eat dinner, and tackle homework. Dad would usually arrive home after a long practice with his high school team. After talking to Mom for a few minutes, he would poke his head in our room. That was our signal. My brother and I would immediately bounce up and jog out of the house up to the local junior high school, with Dad driving behind us. Dad would throw us hundreds of balls all night long. Needless to say, I was tired every night.
Hey! Me too, Ted
As an avid reader, I read books on any and every subject. My favorites were those on successful people and in particular, great baseball players. I remember reading a story about Ted Williams hitting so much that his blistered and callused hands bled. Reading about the great hitter became a vivid image to me. Dad and I discussed Ted Williams' approach to hitting and his work ethic. I wondered if I would hit so much that my hands would ever blister and bleed.
That day was soon to come. Dad pitched and pitched and pitched day after day after day. Eventually, my hands became sore. As I kept hitting, my hands developed blisters. But still, I was determined to keep hitting even though my blisters began to bleed. Did I stop hitting after my blisters bled? No. Dad gave me his workman gloves, and I continued to hit.
Holiday appetizers
I grew up in Shreveport, La., where we had long, hot, humid summers but short, chilly winters. Those chilly winters did not stop Dad. Now that I think about it, we might have hit even more during the winter seasons. Back then, indoor hitting facilities were not available to us.
While other kids played inside their warm homes during winter, we would be outdoors hitting. Dad believed that these were the months to get ahead of the competition. Even on Thanksgiving and Christmas, Dad would take us to the park to get in our "appetizers" before friends and relatives joined us for those great holiday meals.
A step farther
During my junior year in high school, Dad, some of his players, my brother and I attended a Christmas baseball camp in Stillwater, Okla., on Oklahoma State's campus. The camp was led by a tremendous hitting guru. There, I learned in great detail about the new science and application of hitting.
At the end of the first and second days of camp, Dad and I sat down and discussed the new hitting philosophy over and over again. We concluded that I would incorporate the new application of hitting 100 percent and "go from there."
Over the next days of camp, Dad, my brother and I arrived an hour before camp activities started and stayed an hour after the day's events were over to apply the hitting approach. Those days at camp with Dad meant a lot to me. Not only did I get to see where I stacked up against other baseball players my age, but I would also learn the science and application that would further define my approach to hitting a baseball.
Dad's baseball wisdom
"Baseball is 90 percent mental and 10 percent physical."
When I played Major League Baseball for the Cleveland Indians, the Chicago White Sox and the Orioles, I found that to be accurate. Many athletes are talented, but the "daily grind" that accompanies playing professional baseball is unlike playing any other major professional sport. Dad prepared me for the "daily grind." He provided me with baseball wisdom that I still draw on today.
Here are some of his baseball "proverbs":
"Always do right by `the big guy upstairs.'"
