I remember right where I was sitting, when I heard the question.  I was sitting at Cyndy’s pancake house talking to my good friend Rand.  It was a Monday morning about 10 AM. 

We were having a typical discussion covering everything from the world’s problems, to running our own businesses.  As we moved easily from subject to subject, expressing frustration and happiness at the same time, Rand blurts out a statement.

Brooker can I tell you something?  “Sure”, I said.  Rand stated, “the best word, you will ever hear in your life is….”  It seemed like there was a 15 second delay before he answered.  It’s the word “Daddy.”

When we first met at the University of Washington, we were a couple of freshman.  Rand’s high school girlfriend Cheri was pregnant, after our sophomore year.  Rand did the honorable thing and got married, and a year later, little Randi came along.  A couple of years later, Jeff, their son was born.

I was 44 years old when my son Connor was born.  A little bit older than the typical father, but by all accounts a lot wiser.  I don’t know what kind of father I would’ve been in my 20s or 30s, but I know for sure, I was a much better father, because I was in my 40s.  As I thought about what Rand had said, I thought about all the words I’ve heard spoken to me in the English language.

Daddy was indeed the best word I’d ever heard.  From the moment my son Connor first said that word, I can remember my heart skipping a beat.  Regardless of my frame of mind, or what level of pressure there was from the day, the minute I heard that word, everything changed and my heart melted.

It’s as if my heart re-melted every single time I heard that word in the future.

It told me what a thoughtful person and friend Rand was.  He is one of the most down-to-earth people I’ve ever met in my life.  A good friend, for over 40 years now.  For him to say something so powerful speaks volumes about him.

My son Connor is now approaching 15 years old.  To this day, there is not a time when he calls me Daddy that I don’t think about that conversation at the pancake house.  It constantly reminds me of how blessed I am to have a child.  How fortunate I am to know the level of love that only a parent can know for a child, when that little baby boy looks at you and calls you Daddy.  You understand the true meaning of the word love.

Connor and I lost his mother when he was 4 1/2 years old.  Looking back, it made our bond even stronger, and knowing how important my role was for Connor as his only parent.  The meaning of the word Daddy is even more powerful.  Daddy… is truly the best word I will ever hear in my life.

Our conversation gets me thinking about how we approach things that seem impossible.  I mean really, what are the chances I can hit a fastball going almost hundred miles an hour? What were the chances of getting a pitcher to actually throw pitches to us?  At the pitching places, the fastest machines only pitch at about 65 mph.  Regardless of whether we actually found someone or not, the idea that we’re actually willing to go down there and give it a shot, encourages me.

I figure if Massimo and I go to Safeco Field and go to batting practice, maybe we’ll get lucky.  What happens if we get a bloop single or throw the bat in front of the ball and get a bunt? Hey, it could happen.

I realize our chances of hitting the ball are really slim, maybe less than slim.  But, at least if we are actually there, it is a possibility.  It reminded me a lot of selling things door to door.  You have to figure sooner or later somebody was going to buy what you’re selling.  But if you didn’t knock on any doors, you were certain that you wouldn’t sell anything.

So we start talking about how we seem to limit our chances with our own negative self talk.  I know there isn’t much of a chance for a hit, and maybe that chance will be 1 or 2%, but I do know one thing,

if we don’t go down to the field there is a 100% chance we won’t get a hit.

I guess the point of our whole discussion over coffee, was to remember who we listen to and how we let them affect us.  If we listen to everyone who told us we couldn’t do something, we probably wouldn’t accomplish anything, and that person would be right. 

We decided right then and there it was time to say “no mas”.  The next time somebody says, we can’t do something, our answer is going to be:  “You know what, we’re going to Safeco Field, have a nice day!”