As a kid, I was a terrible baseball player. That didn’t keep my dad from always being there for me. He even coached some of my teams. What I lacked in talent I made up for with unbridled energy and enthusiasm.

I remember one game in particular. My dad was a little late to the game and my team had taken the field. I saw my dad come sit in the stands, and I got (even more) excited so I yelled, “HEY DAD! I’M PLAYING RIGHT FIELD.”

I heard the parents in the stands laugh, but I swear to you by all the pizza on the planet, that did nothing to reduce my joy by even a molecule.

He yelled back, “SON, I CAN SEE THAT!”

After the game, one of the things my dad said was, “I’m proud of you for giving baseball everything you’ve got and that you have fun doing it.”

What moves a son to be blessed by his father (or his mother)?

In that moment, he acknowledged and affirmed me. The power of that blessing has lasted more than four decades.