Dear Senior

By Vincent Esquer Jr.

Walking up the plate I always found my dad in the stands.

To a degree, it might have even become a bad habit.

My dad offered me a level of comfort and hope that nothing else ever seemed to give me.

I was not the greatest baseball player.

Far from it, actually. 

However,

My dad loved baseball.

No, he REALLY loved baseball. 

When he wasn’t busy working out with me or teaching me new skills he would spend his time in his decked-out baseball office any fan could only dream of.

The jerseys hanging from his office walls I often caught him glancing at.

He always told me that one day if I continued to work hard I might end up there one day.

But I knew he loved me either way.

That’s the thing about him.

He was a hard man to please.

It seemed whenever I did something perfectly he could still pick out the flaw.

That aspect of him always pushed my buttons. But pushed my buttons to go a little harder the next time around or show him what I was made of.

But like every great teacher he always had his secret ways.

I can remember countless times when I seemed to push the guy away about baseball. It seems we as people every time we get the slightest bit uncomfortable or upset about changing or improving we seem to bark back at whatever source we feel is coming at us but are really trying to just help.

Just like postgame dialogues in the car.

They were always a bit…spooky. 

You got two guys, one (my dad) who spent his whole week getting you ready to kill it on the field and the other (me) who absolutely dropped the ball, trying to converse. 

It was just always a recipe for disaster. 

I would defend my lack performance while he gave it to me how I disappointed him.

IT’S TIME TO COME CLEAN

He actually never said he was disappointed… That’s just how I felt.
I was just acting selfishly in that moment. 
It’s just all those drills.
The cross-country car rides. 
The insane coaches. 
The disgusting protein shakes. 
THE ENDLESS, LONG NIGHTS. 
Those things just always seemed to build expectations of success followed by continual thoughts and insecurities about possibly not succeeding.
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Not succeeding…

There is no easy way to say this.
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But my dad had multiple myeloma. 
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His condition was brutal.
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In the time he fought cancer it seemed to destroy him physically.
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The irony was beyond cruel.
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This man that I loved more than life itself… my teacher…my coach… my mentor… my life…was now asking me for help.

But I was there for him.

I did the best I could and he did too.

Even down to my final showcase as a baseball player. Where he was there to mentor and train with me when he wasn’t lying sick in bed.

But baseball was secondary at this point.

When he was sick I could just never stop thinking about him.

I could see the pain in his eyes.

The fear of getting sicker weighing down even more his compromised immune system.

Watching him like this was just excruciating.

February 2020

My dad passed away earlier this year.

It’s strange because although I could see it coming I never realized the depth of it until it happened. 

The best way I can describe is like riding a roller coaster to the top and just freezing.

There is just that feeling of emptiness, of loss.

But some time went by and as I replayed memories of him one thing always came back to me…

Baseball.

And that’s why I’m here to write this.

Dear Senior,

Dad first off I miss you beyond understanding and I hope you’re doing well and in peace. I just wanted to say thank you. It didn’t fully hit me until you were gone that my baseball career was not really about you wanting to see me in primetime one day, though I am sure you would have minded that:) You really did not make this about you. Even in your fight to stay alive you never made it about you. I remember how you never told people you met of your condition unless asked upon. You never even once said to me that you were sick. Obviously, you spoke about the condition you had as being crippling at times and unbearable but you never became that pain. I am sorry it took me till now to realize this but all those nights you spent with me working, all the long talks about how I needed to improve, and the plan we were going to set off on together to make me better was never at all about baseball. It was just life. You taught me to not become the energy around but to stay neutral. You taught me that life somedays is going to tell me I am the king to inflate my ego and the next day erase it completely. But most importantly you taught me to never ever say that life is unfair. Thank you dad for your fight and for teaching me how to fight. You gave your life to show me how strong I really am. As I move forward I promise to keep you in my heart forever. Although I don’t walk up to the plate anymore you will always comfort me. Please continue to help me push, grow, and simply love all things and people I encounter.

Love you, Dad,

Vince
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Our Why:
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My dad left me with this as his greatest lesson.
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More times than not in life we will not be perfect at whatever endeavor we take on.

It is critical to remember why we do things.

Our why is who we are and what we live for. 

If our why is weak we have nothing to stand for.

If our why is strong though, we have already declared that we cannot lose.

My hope is that you all have strengthened your why in 2020. These have been very trying times but as I have learned trying times are what make us. What you do and learn from this point forward is your story. 
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To young athletes or people that were once in my situation or here now I say to you this:

Pinch yourself every time you walk on your stage.

Take it all in and most importantly the people who helped get you there. 

And let only passion and love for what you do drive you forward.

You have nothing to prove because there are those around you that love you more than you could ever imagine.

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