And that’s when things started to go south.

            Because as good as he was, Toby just didn’t love it. He liked the father-son time, and he loved making John and me proud on game day. The problem was that given the choice Toby would much rather be sitting at the baby grand piano in our living room than in the garage oiling his mitt. Music came as easily to him as baseball did. He could play by ear, and when he started guitar lessons his teachers were blown away by the speed with which he picked it up.

            If John was disappointed by this turn of extracurricular events, he did everything he could not to show it. I knew he missed those weekend afternoons coaching Toby in the yard; I’d often see him throw a yearning glance out the window toward the corner of the yard where they used to hold batting practice, but I think he knew there was no point in pushing it.

            Sports are optional; love is unconditional.