5 Books That Changed My Life: Part 4
January 8, 2008 
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Back in 2006 I wrote a post about baseball. In that post, I briefly mentioned my dad taking me, when I was little, to a local book store called “Copperfield’s” to meet the legendary Dave Dravecky.
Dave Dravecky was a Major League pitcher for, most notably the San Francisco Giants. At the height of his career, he was diagnosed with cancer. He underwent surgery in 1988 where half of his deltoid muscle was removed to prevent the spread of the cancer. He recovered and returned to the professional pitcher’s mount on August 10, 1989, leading the Giants to defeat the Cincinnati Reds 4-3. Five days later the Giants traveled to Montreal to play against the Expos. Dravecky pitched the first three innings without giving up a single hit (in those days that was a really big deal). It was in the fifth inning that he began to notice the “tingling sensation” that was running from between his shoulder to his elbow. The sixth inning was even worse: his control started to slip, a batter hit a homerun off of him and then he hit the next batter with the ball. As far as Dave was concerned, the game rested on the pitches to the next batter.
“I looked at my catcher, Terry Kennedy, and he signaled for a sinking fastball, low and away, on the outside part of the plate. I nodded to him and started my windup. But when I brought my arm over my shoulder, I heard a crack next to my ear. It sounded like a brittle tree limb snapping in two. It was so loud even the people in the stands heard it.”
“When You Can’t Come Back” page 27
As the ball sailed helplessly near first base, Dave collapsed, face first to the ground.
When you’re a seven-year-old kid, sitting on the couch, watching one of your favorite players make his comeback, from a disease you could barely even comprehend, this was tragic. When you’re that young, people still seemed invulnerable. Sadly, Dave Dravecky’s cancer returned to his arm and a short time later his left arm – his pitching arm – was amputated at the shoulder.
Three years later, Dave Dravecky and his wife, Jan, were coming to our little city for a book signing. I had heard about the big event from my best friend, Ryan, who shared my baseball enthusiasm. I don’t recall ever asking my dad about this, because my parents were the kind of people that didn’t really like to leave the house.
My dad came home from work that day, loaded me up in the car, and surprised shocked the hell out of me when he pulled into the parking lot of the bookstore where Dave Dravecky was. As we walked to the end of the already-formed line, I started to count the people ahead of us. I’m sure I lost count pretty quickly and suspect there were probably a hundred or so in line at that point in the evening. On September 19, 1992, at 8:13pm my dad surprised me with my very own copy of Dave’s book. If it wasn’t enough that after standing in line for over an hour, we were finally within view of Dave Dravecky, this just blew my mind. I would actually have something that I could use to collect Dave’s autograph.
I honestly don’t remember if I said anything to Dave, when we finally made it to his table. The only thing I remember was shaking his remaining hand and hearing my dad say something to him along the lines of how Dave taking the time to come to our town meant the world to me.
“When You Can’t Come Back” changed my life on more levels than I can begin to articulate. Most importantly, it was one of the first honest and true bonding experiences I had ever had with my father. Don’t get me wrong, my dad and I are very close, and we had a lot of fun times when he stayed home with me during the days, after my pre-school ended. but this was one of those memories that always comes rushing forward when I think about my dad. This memory paved the way for my dad and I to communicate and bond later on in my life. We would play catch for hours in the street in front of our house whenever it wasn’t raining.
When things were bothering me, my dad always seemed to know. I’d come out into the kitchen and find my baseball glove and ball waiting for me on the kitchen table. I’d pick them up and go into the garage to find my dad sitting at his work bench, fiddling with something, his own baseball glove sitting next to him. As we threw the baseball back and forth we’d talk. In between spontaneous mock pop-flys and grounders we’d talk about school or girls I had a crush on.
“When You Can’t Come Back” didn’t change my life because of what the pages held. It changed my life because of how that book opened the lines of communication from then on out with my dad.
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