I’ve been yelling, “Ese es mi hijo” from the stands now for 16 years. It simply means, “That’s my boy,” and you hear it yelled out a lot here in Miami. For some reason, my hispanic friends think it’s funny when I yell it out.
I learned my Spanish baseball vocabulary at a popular baseball park here in Dade County called “Tamiami.” Against the well-meaning advice of many kind and gentle baseball-parent friends, David started playing there when he was nine years old. We were warned the conditions there could be a little rough. And just to prove the point, our very first game was complete with a resounding victory — and a fist fight — between the coach’s wives.
But it was at Tamiami my son, David, really learned the game of baseball. I can still hear some of the heavy Spanish accents from coaches as they taught the boys how to play. Baseball wasn’t just a game; it was a passion.
We sent 9-year-old David on a month-long baseball trip from Miami to Texas that year under the care of another couple. We never worried once knowing he would be the most well treated and cared for kid on the entire trip. Hispanics take family very seriously and David was their adopted gringo son. Not only that, but by the time the trip was over, David knew all Celia Cruz’s songs by heart.
Now David plays for the University of Miami. Not surprisingly, one of his teammates was on his Tamiami team. Several others play for different Division One teams while at least one other is already playing professional ball. Today, David was named one of sixty players to make the Golden Spikes Watch List. The trophy, which is awarded in June, is given to the athlete the panel considers the best amateur baseball player in the country. It’s a nice list to be on.
So once again, here I am in the stands yelling, “Ese es mi hijo!” And I couldn’t be more proud. God is good!