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Independence, MO —
This column goes out to the most special moms in my life – my mother, Joyce, and my wife, Stacy.
While my dad worked marathon hours for the Gas Service Co., my mom would drive me everywhere. And I can never recall one complaint.
Before I got my driver’s license, she would take me from our home near 23rd Street and Missouri 291 in Independence to 22nd and Brooklyn, the site of old Municipal Stadium, for every home Kansas City A’s and Royals game. That way, I would be first in line outside of the visiting team’s locker room.
I was able to meet my baseball heroes like Al Kaline, Brooks Robinson, Harmon Killebrew and Roberto Clemente, who played in an exhibition game against the A’s before his untimely death delivering supplies to earthquake victims in Nicaragua.
She would then stay after games so I could meet my favorite A’s and Royals players. To this day, I will never forget meeting slugger Rocky Colavito for the first time. He was bigger than life and looked like a movie star.
Then there was that damp night our car wouldn’t start and Royals rookie Lou Piniella saw our predicament, went back to the clubhouse, returned with a wire brush he used to clean our car battery, and got us on our way back home.
Our home was the gathering point for all my friends, who enjoyed trading barbs with my redneck dad and pleasantries with my mom, who considered herself a surrogate parent to every kid who needed a little love and attention.
She still fills that role today, as the “Grandma” to all the kids who play hockey for the Missouri Mavericks. There are some nights a friendly pep talk and pat on the back are the right medicine for a 20-year-old who is thousands of miles away from home – and she is always there to deliver.
Next month she will become the youngest 80-year-old Mavs fan in Blue Springs. She has trouble seeing, no longer has a driver’s license – now, it’s my turn to take her to games – and can barely make it into the Independence Events Center because of bad ankles and crippling arthritis, but they don’t drop the puck at a Mavs game until they know she is in her familiar seat in the loge near the press box.
This column goes out to the most special moms in my life – my mother, Joyce, and my wife, Stacy.
While my dad worked marathon hours for the Gas Service Co., my mom would drive me everywhere. And I can never recall one complaint.
Before I got my driver’s license, she would take me from our home near 23rd Street and Missouri 291 in Independence to 22nd and Brooklyn, the site of old Municipal Stadium, for every home Kansas City A’s and Royals game. That way, I would be first in line outside of the visiting team’s locker room.
I was able to meet my baseball heroes like Al Kaline, Brooks Robinson, Harmon Killebrew and Roberto Clemente, who played in an exhibition game against the A’s before his untimely death delivering supplies to earthquake victims in Nicaragua.
She would then stay after games so I could meet my favorite A’s and Royals players. To this day, I will never forget meeting slugger Rocky Colavito for the first time. He was bigger than life and looked like a movie star.
Then there was that damp night our car wouldn’t start and Royals rookie Lou Piniella saw our predicament, went back to the clubhouse, returned with a wire brush he used to clean our car battery, and got us on our way back home.
Our home was the gathering point for all my friends, who enjoyed trading barbs with my redneck dad and pleasantries with my mom, who considered herself a surrogate parent to every kid who needed a little love and attention.
She still fills that role today, as the “Grandma” to all the kids who play hockey for the Missouri Mavericks. There are some nights a friendly pep talk and pat on the back are the right medicine for a 20-year-old who is thousands of miles away from home – and she is always there to deliver.
Next month she will become the youngest 80-year-old Mavs fan in Blue Springs. She has trouble seeing, no longer has a driver’s license – now, it’s my turn to take her to games – and can barely make it into the Independence Events Center because of bad ankles and crippling arthritis, but they don’t drop the puck at a Mavs game until they know she is in her familiar seat in the loge near the press box.
I wish I could put into words what Stacy means to me.
We don’t take extravagant vacations or have a home with a lake-front view. But Stacy doesn’t mind. And like my mom, she never complains.
Stacy spent her 40th birthday on a fog-covered baseball diamond outside of St. Louis, watching our oldest son Zach play in a tournament. She learned a lot about baseball watching Zach and Sean over the years, and she became their No. 1 fan.
She didn’t love the game, but she loved watching her boys. And I will always love her for that.
I was listening to the radio Friday morning and a host was asking callers to name their favorite television moms.
I don’t have a favorite television mom. My favorites are real, and they mean more to me than a silly column could ever express.
I can’t wait for the puck to drop signifying the start of the next Mavericks season so I can share all the excitement and fun-packed evenings with my mom.
And Stacy, I promise someday we will take that cruise to Alaska that we have been dreaming about for such a long, long time.
Until then, I’ll grab the marshmallows, you start the fire and let’s hope for one or two more cool evenings so we can light up the fire pit and enjoy our own little staycation. Just the two us, and every kid on Foxtail Drive.
