Bill O’Boyle

Bill O’Boyle

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<p>Bill O’Boyle Sr. visited the Baseball Hall of Fame in Cooperstown, N.Y., in 1990 and stopped to check out the display about his beloved New York Yankees.</p>

Bill O’Boyle Sr. visited the Baseball Hall of Fame in Cooperstown, N.Y., in 1990 and stopped to check out the display about his beloved New York Yankees.

Dad was always there.

No matter what or here or when — my dad was always there for me.

When I took my first steps — dad was there.

When I spoke my first words — dad was there.

When I celebrated my birthdays — dad was there.

When I learned to go potty — dad was there.

When I fell and scraped my knee — dad was there.

When I walked out the door on my first day of school — dad was there.

When I received all the sacraments — dad was there.

When I swung my first baseball bat, threw my first pitch, shot my first hoop, threw my first football, hit my first home run, struck out my first batter, scored my first basket, rode my first bicycle, climbed my first tree, grated my first horseradish, ran my Lionel train, made my first snowman, swam in my first pool, got my first report card — dad was always there.

When my mom died — dad was there.

When I got married — dad was there.

When I got divorced — dad was there.

When I asked a question — dad was there.

When I acted like I knew everything — dad was there.

When I acted like an idiot — dad was there.

When I struggled to get through difficult times in my life –dad was always there.

When I wanted to just sit with him and watch a game or a TV western or Wheel of Fortune –dad was there.

When I wanted to drop in Bob’s Cafe just to hang out for a while with him – dad was there.

Whenever I wanted to call him – dad was there.

This is what dads do. They do it all because they love us. They send a very clear yet strong vibe that tells us that whatever we need and whenever we need it, dad is there.

My dad never missed a practice for my baseball or basketball teams. He never interfered. He would offer encouragement and he would talk to me about what he had just seen and I always learned.

After my mom died in 1968, dad and I bonded. It wasn’t an orchestrated process — it just happened. Dad knew now, more than ever, he needed to be there for me as we moved forward.

And he was. He was my role model, my example, my idol. A friend of my dad’s once told me that he never heard anyone ever say one bad thing about my dad. That’s quite a legacy.

My dad was fun, smart, talented, hard-working and a real gentleman. He went to war, came home with one less leg and set out making a life for himself and eventually his wife and son. Dad worked every day, never complaining about his disability or offering excuses why he couldn’t do something. My dad wouldn’t hear of it.

He loved his family, his community and his country and he dedicated his life to improving all. In 1950, he co-founded the Plymouth Little League. He served as president every year for nearly 40 years, except for the four years I played in the league. Dad stepped down to assure there was no appearance of favoritism shown toward his son.

There are many days and events I remember about my dad. I still like to think about the time I arrived at his home to tell him we were going for a ride.

“Where we going?” he asked.

I told him it was a surprise.

About an hour in to the ride, dad was getting a little fidgety, and he asked again where we were going. When we crossed over the border into New York, he knew.

“Cooperstown?” he asked.

I confirmed his suspicion,. Dad was fine with it now. He had always wanted to visit the Baseball Hall of Fame and today was his time.

Dad loved every part of the Hall. He visited every floor and every display. He especially loved seeing anything related to the Yankees — his team; our team.

But for me, it was more than appropriate for my dad to be in the Hall of Fame. If there ever is a Fathers Hall of Fame, my dad should be among the first class of inductees.

Most sons and daughters would feel the same way about their dad.

I will leave you with this. As a kid, I never really noticed the true love between my mom and dad, but it was there every day. They each had a bad leg and neither were in any way hindered by their disability.

But it was when my mom took sick that I saw love up close. I saw the expressions on his face, the holding of hands, the tears.

I saw the devotion of nightly visits to the hospital and weekend trips to Philadelphia to be at mom’s side.

I listened when they talked. I heard the conversations of two people very much in love.

I remember it all like it was yesterday.

And even though all those yesterdays are gone, my dad is always with me — he really is always there for me.

Happy Father’s Day.

Reach Bill O’Boyle at 570-991-6118 or on Twitter @TLBillOBoyle, or email at [email protected].