Buying a child’s first glove and passing on a father’s love for baseball

By Vanessa Álvarez

My husband and I first saw each other at a baseball field in Los Angeles when we were both in our early teens. We were never formally introduced, but Luis played on several teams coached by my uncle. It would be another four years before we met again while attending the same high school. We began dating that fall and by spring semester he was doing what he did best, playing baseball.

That year, as captain and hotshot shortstop, he led the Eagle Rock High School Eagles’ varsity baseball team to the CIF Los Angeles City Section Championship at Dodger Stadium. Although our team ultimately lost, his memories from that day are irreplaceable. He used to retell that same high school baseball story to anyone who would listen. I would often sit back and just roll my eyes, thinking, “Not again.”

Recently, however, he told his story about the time he played at Chavez Ravine to our 5-year-old son, Jackson. Yes, I’m a history buff. My three kids — Jackson, 3-year-old Kennedy and 2-year-old Madison — are named after presidents. But I digress. Listening to my husband describe every detail — from the red color of the dirt in the infield to the way the grass felt beneath his spikes to the spectators’ view from the field level — the story took on a new life. Though our son is still young and he will likely hear this same anecdote retold many times, that day he listened, eagerly taking in all the details of his father’s story.

When my husband was growing up in the ’90s, he and his family lived in Glassell Park in Northeast Los Angeles, commonly known as NELA. He arrived as a toddler when his parents immigrated to the United States from Mérida in Yucatán, Mexico.

At the time, there were very few extracurricular activities available for the youth that lived in this ’hood. NELA was and is still made up of primarily low-income families with multiple children. This meant that many of the Latino youth grew up to be gang members, ending up in jail or dead. In my husband’s case, he played ball, and it turned out well for him.

Sunday family tradition

Sunday ball was a weekly tradition for the Álvarez family. His dad would play at local parks on teams made up of guys who were also from Mexico. Many were also from Mérida, fellow paisanos who had immigrated north to the same city in the States.

Wives and girlfriends would sit along the sidelines and near the dugouts in their fold-up chairs, gossiping while their children played together nearby. This was their home away from home, since living in the apartments on Chapman Street offered limited safe areas to play. What had started out as a regular weekend activity became a daily escape from cramped living quarters. My husband is the oldest of three boys and one girl, all who grew up playing hardball starting at about age 4.

My husband and I have this ongoing debate as to whether a person is born with talent or if talent is bred. I used to argue for the latter, but as a mother I now believe a person is born with talent. Our son was born to excel at baseball, or so I hope! My husband, on the other hand, is a product of determination and exceptional coaching efforts by his own father. Eventually, the sport he was trained to know, play and dream of was the one he came to love.

Luis’ baseball story ended in 2001, one year before his high school graduation, when he signed up for the military. He was well aware of the fact that college scouts would not be knocking on any door in his neighborhood. Military recruiters, on the other hand, seemed to always show up in the ’hood and the Navy lucked out when they signed my husband. The determination and dedication he would so often sweat onto the baseball field would soon be shed for the military.

After 16 years, Luis is now a naval officer and we are stationed in San Diego. Although he occasionally plays softball for a team on his ship, he rarely has time to play since this year our son turned 4 and became eligible for T-ball. Our weekends now revolve around lugging our son’s equipment and fold-up chairs from ball field to ball field.

Unlike my husband, who played ball to stay out of trouble and used secondhand equipment or gloves purchased at yard sales, our kids will play for fun with new equipment purchased at sporting goods stores — albeit using coupons and military discounts because I refuse to pay full price for anything.

T-ball ready

They will play ball not because our streets are unsafe or it’s the only option provided to them as Latino children. Our children will be offered the opportunity to play baseball because it will be one of many activities we will make available to them. Our son’s T-ball experience will begin on a team within Eastlake Little League of Chula Vista, the same league that produced the 2013 Little League World Series runner-up. His T-ball field is packed with premium red sports dirt mix, much like the field that his dad waited his entire career to play on at Dodger Stadium. Their mini ball park has assigned parking spaces for donor families, major sponsors and a fancy website.

Our son’s coach called us at the start of the season with a list of suggested equipment and other requirements. Though it only included basic items — baseball pants, a cup (for boys), socks and a glove — I knew that we would never leave a sporting goods store without racking up an absurd total. And I was right. At the start of our Little League shopping trip I immediately went for all of the practical items — belts, pants, and socks. My husband, meanwhile, ended up right in front of the section with kids’ baseball gloves. While I was looking for the best deals, my husband was looking for the best glove he could buy for his son.

During my search for size extra-small baseball pants, I saw my husband eyeballing a particular glove for our son. We had been trying to figure out whether our son would play as a righty or a lefthander, since I grew up throwing from both sides. I could see him analyzing the glove for fit, size and color as if it were a major life decision.

With a smirk on his face, he called our son over and I immediately grabbed my camera phone to capture the moment. My husband placed the glove on our son’s left hand, and showed him where the finger hole was. Our son, with a lollipop in his mouth, kind of pulled the glove away with this “I got it, Dad” attitude. I asked Jackson if he was “T-ball ready” and he just smiled back at me.

I’ll confess that while we’re letting our son throw righty, Jackson is a natural left-handed hitter. It will make him a better prospect! Seriously speaking, my hope is that our kids become the best at everything they do, including baseball, but more important, I hope that whatever they do, they do it with passion and love. Only time will tell for how long our children will play and where their baseball stories will end.

That is what baseball is about, right? It is about passing the knowledge of the sport and the love for the game on to your kids. For now, our son will play baseball because he is an Álvarez and this is what they do.

Vanessa Álvarez lives in San Diego with her husband Lt. Commander Luis B. Álvarez and their three children. She is the cousin of La Vida Baseball Social Media Editor Henry Pacheco.

Featured Image: Vanessa Álvarez

Inset Images: Vanessa Álvarez