Sleepless Long Nights
To Provo, Utah I read in an email. A long way away from my home sweet Albany, New York. I don't want to get too deep into this, I probably write too much about the airport as it is. 3 out of 3 flights delayed, 14 hours of travel, at the end of my emotional rope when the pilot announces, "If you look out of the right side of the plane you can see the Northern Lights."
The last pilot said that too and let the entire plane down. No one could see anything. This time was different. This time I was on the left side of the plane. A rare air-travel kindness was extended to me by two women across the aisle. "We can move. You should see this, it's worth it."
To the window. And then tears. And then back to my seat. And more tears.
It isn't like baking, the tears. There's no science. The closest I've found is the final sequence in Field of Dreams when Moonlight Graham can't go back and Ray Kinsella finally asks for that catch. My great-grandmother died and they didn't come, the Sixers traded Jrue Holiday and they did. Maybe it's the expectation but again, Ray Kinsella and his dad.
Ken Griffey Jr. hit his 500th home run on Father's Day in 2004, with Griffey Sr. in attendance. That did it. He waited a week after homer 499, probably not intentionally, but baseball in all of its fickle humor seems to find a way. It always seemed to find a way for the Griffeys. They were the first father-son duo to hit back-to-back home runs, Sr. managed Jr. with the Reds, even Jr.'s 400th dinger was hit on his father's 50th birthday. Back to #500. Griffey was on the road in St. Louis, a town famous for its knowledgable and respectful baseball fans (a recent trip to Busch Stadium did not confirm nor debunk this, they weren't notable but they were also playing a pretty awful Rockies team). Legendary Reds' broadcaster Marty Brennaman was on the call for the Reds the afternoon of June 20th, 2004, and his work was tremendous. The call went, "The pitch, and a high drive! Hit back into deep right field! Junior has just knocked the door down to the five-hundred club! A high drive into the lower deck in right, number thirty touches 'em all and boy what a Father's Day gift for Senior!... And now Junior running down toward the area where his mom and dad sit and he is there with his father for a big Father's Day hug. What a scene it is here in Busch Stadium in St. Louis!" A raucous standing ovation by the Cardinals fans followed.
My father never took me to see the Northern Lights and he's got a healthy discomfort in airplanes. He did however, play with me. He really played. Baseball, basketball, football, ping-pong, it didn't matter, he was a dad who played. I excitedly told him about working in the Superdome in New Orleans and throwing a touchdown pass to one of my coworkers in 2019. I invited him over to pull out my Sports Emmy and thank him for everything he did over the years. We never went back-to-back in the majors, but we did make the paper once. The photo, taken in June of 1996, was taken from behind home plate and pictured in the center of the frame was my dad on the pitchers mound, me off to the left with my whiffle bat in hand, and the ball sailing over his head. The caption read, "Michael Campana Jr., 4, marks Father's Day with a mighty rip Sunday while playing ball with his dad, Michael Campana Sr., in Schenectady's Central Park."
After I landed in Salt Lake City and made the 45 minute drive to Provo I only had about 3 hours to sleep before I had to go to work the next morning. I didn't cry. There isn't any science. But there is reason. At my best what beats in my heart is in rhythm with those around me. Every time I play it's my dad's blood running through my veins. I'm just the phlebotomist.
-Michael Campana