The Father we Never Found

I number of years ago, I was sitting in the stands at the (old) Yankee stadium, third base side, with my good friend from early childhood, David Champa, who is an avid Yankees fan. It was a lovely, warm spring afternoon with the players stretching and sprinting on the green field while fans began to sprinkle in. The game was still about an hour away.

A few rows below us, a young father sat beside his little boy, enjoying the spectacle of the players preparing themselves for the task at hand. The dad watched in rapt attention as, no doubt, many of his contemporary heroes performed right before him. He kept pointing to various players and leaning in to explain to his small son their relative importance. The little boy sat excitedly (obviously his first baseball game), his cap tipped up and large baseball glove at the ready in his right hand. It was very pleasant--even peaceful--to watch them.

Suddenly, a large wasp began to hover around the little boy's head, as though looking for a particularly juicy victim. The wasp buzzed back and forth, then landed on the boy's hat as if to tease onlookers, then took to the air again. The boy and his dad continued in their reverie. Finally, the wasp with some deliberateness landed on the boy's shoulder and began to creep up toward his bare neck.

I instinctively motioned forward in hopes of shooing the wasp away. With concern and frustration I waved my hands back and forth in an attempt to get the wasp, though several yards below us. It was impossible to shout from our distance above them, so the waving and gesturing was the best I could do.

The moment felt like an eternity, and then the dad did an amazing thing--he put his right arm around the boy with a simple, sweet affection and the wasp flew off. It was as though the forces of evil were repelled by the forces of love (although I do know better than that).

I was unaware that David was watching the little drama, too. As I felt a small shudder of relief that the boy was spared the wasp's sting, he leaned over to me and said, "Now you know how God must feel..."