Suburbans and Baseball Sets

Last summer I had the privilege of sitting around with some old high school friends, having a few beers, and telling old and new stories. My buddy Poike asked the group about our earliest memories in life. My fourth birthday, April 18, 1988, is by far my most vivid, earliest memory, and it stands out largely because of my dad, Rich Henrion, and two major events that, unbeknownst to me at the time, would play a very big role in my life for the next several years.

I was in the backyard playing with my sisters when all of a sudden my dad pulled into the driveway in his brand new 1988 Chevrolet Suburban, a blue and white tank that was destined to become part of our family’s lore. Over the next 13 years or so, this vehicle would take our family to Cape Cod, the Florida Keys, Los Angeles, Atlanta, Myrtle Beach, and all points in between. The memories made with friends and family in the Suburban are surely too many to name, but it’s safe to say we all spent thousands of hours in that vehicle, and it was well-known around our small community. A few years ago, I was hiking with a friend in Chattanooga, Tennesee. Her father had, unfortunately, just passed away, and we got to talking about dads. I told her that one time my dad explained to me that it was always important to him to have a vehicle with a third row seat and legal seating for eight. With this extra capacity, my whole family, my mom, dad, two older sisters, and me could go on a trip, and each of us kids could bring a friend. My dad was pretty unique in that way. Not everyone is that generous or thinks that much about creating experiences for others. You see, we grew up in a real small town that could feel somewhat insulated from the rest of the world, but my dad knew it was important to get out, wander, explore, and show us kids life outside of Norway, Michigan. He wanted to share travel experiences with as many people as possible, and while most of our friends had great parents, none of them were aggressive travelers like my dad. The trips my dad planned were big, bold, and packed with as much fun and activities as possible. There was no wasted time, and the family bonding experiences are with me forever.

Now, aside from the new family chariot, I got this baseball set as a gift. The set had a bat, a ball, and a home plate with a net attached to the back of it that held the three other soft rubber bases and a few baseballs. This may seem like just a standard gift for a sports-obsessed kid turning four, but it became much more to me than just another birthday present, and I probably got more use out of it than any gift I’ve ever received. My dad was always up for a game of catch or ready to throw when I wanted to do some batting practice. That little baseball set came on every trip we took in the blue Suburban. We’d be on a long road trip and bust out an impromptu game of pitch and catch at random rest stops all across the country. One time in Milwaukee we found this out-of-the-way park and I crushed a ball that almost took out my cousin Erik’s kneecap. Playing baseball on the beautiful lawn of the capital building in Sacramento, California, in the summer of 1992 is something I still remember to this day. There are a thousand other sessions I could describe with that baseball set, and many of them involve road trips with my amazing, fun-loving dad.

Thanks, Dad.