My dad really wanted me to get into baseball when I was a little kid. I used to have to play baseball every year even though I was terrible at it, and hated every second of it. At one point he even got me an autographed baseball to try and make me excited about the sport. Even though I really did like the ball, and kept it high up on my shelf, it didn't really change the way I felt about baseball... or sports in general.
If a signed baseball wasn't going to change my mind, nothing was going to. Finally, pop let me stop playing sports; he was pretty sad, but we both knew that I was just going to embarrass him if I kept going, and neither of us wanted that.
Looking back, maybe I should have stuck with it a little longer--just kidding, I was seriously terrible. However, I could have least gotten a few more autographed baseballs out of the deal. My dad is probably still a little disappointed--he only had one son, and it was me--but at least he never brings it up. It would actually probably make him to sad to talk about it. Amen.
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