Some things are best left alone in this world. Your best friend's ex-girlfriend and your sister's diary are two. Your father's baseball glove is another.

When I look back over what I shudder to call my "childhood" one of my only memories of my father is playing catch in the front yard. When I first started playing little league, my dad wanted to be a part of it with me. I remember him going out and buying me a glove. It just fit my hand, my little second-grade hand. He also bought himself a glove to play catch with me. It was the same style but much larger. He took that glove home, oiled it and worked it until his hands were sore.

We went out into the front yard and played catch for about an hour. Then we called it quits. That was the only time I played catch with my dad. Honestly that's one of my few childhood experiences with my dad that I look upon fondly. I'm not sure why he chose to spend that time with me. Maybe he was trying to regain a part of his childhood he had lost. Maybe I'll understand in 30 years.

I remember putting on his glove once when I was young. I was in a hurry and I saw it lying in the closet. I thought it was mine and tried it on. I only remember how my fingers didn't even reach the holes. I was in awe of my father then.

In any case, time has passed and while I was looking through the closet for a pair of boots (my father's), I couldn't help but notice my father's glove on the top shelf. It must have been sitting there for the past eight years or so. I didn't stop and think, I simply picked it up off the shelf and tried it on. It fit perfectly. Might have been a little small.

That was all it took to make me realize how much I had been missing over the years. That was all I needed to realize how I ... we had blown our one chance at my childhood. Yes, we've had problems since then, but deep down inside I think I've always wanted to go back out and play catch again. Now there is only one glove though and neither of us has the time to go break in another.