Another little league story I remember involved me and my dad. Back in the late 50's, one parent was regularly recruited from the spectators to umpire the game. This particular Saturday my Dad volunteered for the job. My Dad was away a lot for work so I was thrilled that he was there to watch me play this particular game but as an eleven year old, I wasn't sure I wanted him to umpire. He spent the afternoon doing a creditable job calling the game. Near the end of the game, we were down by a run, and it was my turn at the plate. I hit a fast ball to right center field that went between the players. I ran the bases as fast as my legs would carry me with an easy stand up tripple but the third base coach was waiving me on to stretch this into a homer. On I went. The throw was coming into home plate. It was going to be real close. My Dad was poised to make the call. Dust billowed everywhere as I slid into home plate. I was sure I was safe and had tied the game. As I got up from the scrum, I heard my Dad, the umpire, call out..."Your OUT!" What? No way I thought. I walked back to the bench nearly in tears. I was so mad at my Dad. Later on the ride home from the game in the car, my Dad told me that as much as he wanted me to be safe, it was his job and duty to call the play like he saw it....even if it involved calling his son out. I was no less upset but what I didn't realize was the lesson of honesty and integrity was passed from father to son through the game of baseball. Before my Dad passed away, he often told that story to my children. I wish he were still around.