John Sajdak - In Memoriam

            My Dad passed away on Monday of this week (August 18 – my favorite baseball player’s birthday – Roberto Clemente).  Later today will be his funeral.  So a tribute is in order.

            My Dad turned 90 in January of this year, and I turned 45 the next month.  I am the age he was when I was born.  I now understand his parenting style a bit better, as I imagine what it would be like to have a baby right now.  Because Dad was older when I was born, he wasn’t as directly involved in much of my athletics as a boy.  I only remember one time when he pitched whiffle ball to me, and I don’t remember playing basketball or football with him.  But sports was still an important part of our relationship.  Sunday afternoons watching the Packers, listening to the Brewers on the radio all summer, and in later years watching the Brewers on TV, provided for a lot of conversations.  I remember talking him into taking me to my first game at Wrigley Field when we were visiting relatives in Chicago (and seeing Manny Trillo hit a homer in a Cubs victory, then later learning that my first nephew, Brian, was born), and I remember going to see the Packers play at Milwaukee County Stadium.  He was a District Supervisor for the Milwaukee County Parks, and his district included the arena where the Milwaukee Admirals played hockey when I was a boy, and I got to see a few games and play with pucks and sticks from the team.  I have a lot of great sports-related memories of my Dad.

            But some of the more significant interactions with my Dad in my youth took place on the golf course.  There was a lot of time for talking about things from tee to green, and I enjoyed those moments with my Dad.  My Dad wasn’t the best golfer I played with as a boy – Uncle Clare was always the best in my youthful opinion – but one of my goals was to beat my Dad at golf.  My Dad never let his boys win - we learned to do our best in order to beat him, and we learned a lot about him and about ourselves in the trying.  It took a lot of years, but it happened eventually.  It was a rite of passage.  I slowly began to see his humanity on the golf course – he was made of the dust of the earth, like all of us.  That revelation only served to  demonstrate his nobility, for, despite his grumbling about the outcome, he was not brokenhearted at losing, but rather was proud in having a son who would go beyond what he could do.

      I don’t golf much anymore, but I do play tennis, and my boys are taking up the sport.  I know that day will come when, one by one, they are able to beat me on the court, and I know they’ll brag about the feat, just as I bragged about beating my Dad at golf.  But I also hope that on that day I’ll taste a bit of the pride of my Dad, and that I’ll delight in them just as my Dad delighted in me.

I love you, Dad.