Baseball for me has been a lifelong love, a part of me for as long as I can remember. It began in my front yard, my father teaching me how to catch and throw a baseball. My memory is a blur of those early days of mine, but it started with my dad buying me my first baseball mitt and bat, the smell of the leather glove, the feel of the wooden bat, the sound of the ball colliding with the cowhide of my mitt, and the snap of the ball off the sweet spot of the bat. What's not a blur, but rather a very clear picture, are all the memories of when the game of baseball became very real to me. Little League! The sign-ups, the tryouts, my first coach and team, the field we played on, my first real uniform and the hat that crowned my head. The path to the practice field was lined with silvery coins, secretly dropped along the way by my dad for me to find - fifty-cent pieces and silver dollars - it made my baseball experience magical. I soon found that I was a natural at pitching, a lefty with good control and a classic windup. My dream was to be a pitcher in the Big’s and it appeared I was heading there with many “shutouts” and “no-hitters” throughout my Little League career. God, though, had other plans for me. I truly believe my heartbreak of not becoming that left-handed Big Leaguer, after a stellar record of Little League play, was the impetus for my novel, A Season With The Son. I sat down to write a non-fiction book about how to coach Little Leaguer’s, but what came out was this story about baseball, and Jesus, a story that both shocked me, and healed me. I hope my novel inspires, heals and blesses you.