As published in "Today in Dixie" September 17, 2009
Making memories
By Robert Hoppie
Contributing Writer
My best sports memory is easy to choose. It came courtesy of Luis Gonzalez, outfielder for the Arizona Diamondbacks. You may remember it, as well: He hit a soft little floater over Derek Jeter’s head, and Jay Bell came in to score the 2001 World Series winning run. What an amazing feeling, because we were there. That is where my favorite sports memory happened. It happened because of my dad.
Such memories with Dad have always been a source of power and inspiration to me. I suspect that’s part of the reason he worked so hard to make them happen. I pray these memories and others will sustain him through his remaining time here on Earth. My father, Lynn Hoppie, was diagnosed with an aggressive brain cancer, and his time is short.
As this news began to sink in for me, I began thinking about all the wonderful memories my father was a part of in my life, and I realized that sports was a common thread through a lot of them.
“Two hands, Bobby, always with two hands.”
Some of my earliest childhood memories are of my father and me playing catch in a vacant lot across the street from our home. He had this old, four-fingered baseball glove he played softball with in the Army. I recall dodging tall weeds and rocks while trying to get under a pop fly he had thrown, while my ears rang with his coaching advice to use both hands to secure the ball. That was great advice then, and it’s still great advice.
I love sports. My father understood this pretty early on, and we formed strong bonds surrounding sporting events. Some of the events were of our own creation; backyard Wiffleball was a favorite. He and I would play for hours – or until he had had enough of my over-competitive whining.
We also enjoyed playing a little football. He would toss me the ball and I would run patterns, trying not to run into our neighbor’s fence. We would make up games that made playing catch more fun.
As I grew older and began to play organized sports, Dad was there. He was there to cheer for me as I played little league baseball for the Springerville Cubs in Arizona . He would help me with my batting. I had a tendency to drop my back shoulder as the pitch was being delivered, and it caused me to swing late. He and I worked on that, which helped me become a better hitter.
There was the time my grades were such that I had to quit the fifth grade football team. I still recall sitting in my coach’s living room with my helmet and pads, telling him I couldn’t play for him anymore. It was heartbreaking, but a great life lesson in priorities.
My strongest memories include Dad and me watching sports – both on TV and in person. I remember cheering for our Cowboys on a weekly basis during football season. We had our heroes: Danny White, Tony Dorsett, all the greats who brought us to our feet cheering and sometimes brought me to tears as they went down in defeat.
When I was 12, my father surprised me with one of the greatest gifts I have ever received: he bought us tickets to see the Cowboys play in Texas Stadium. I had never been so excited in my life. It was a preseason game, but to me it was the Super Bowl. We made the road trip from Arizona to Dallas and had the most amazing time.
Even in my adult years, my dad has always been intent on making memories. He was able to secure tickets to a Monday Night Football game in Arizona between the Cardinals and the Cowboys on Christmas night, 1995. This was the night Emmitt Smith broke the single season touchdown record. It has since been broken again, but it was quite a night for us Cowboy fans.
I am grateful for the time Dad spent with me, the life lessons he taught and the support and encouragement he showed. I can only hope, as I raise my own children, that I can be as supportive and teach them the lessons they need to get through.
