Published: Saturday, November 9, 1991
Section: NEWS
Page#: 15A


As Dan Gladden stomped on home plate to win the World Series, I ran upstairs to wake my 6-year-old son.

When Erik had gone to bed, exhausted, after eight scoreless innings, I had promised to wake him if the Twins won. I wanted to see the excitement in his eyes and share the victory celebration with him.

"Erik, wake up! The Twins won! The Twins won!"

He rolled over, still sound asleep.

"Erik, come see the celebration. They're all jumping around and hugging each other."

I pulled him to a sitting position. He looked around in confusion and tried to lie down again.

"Here, Erik, let me take you downstairs so you can see the party."

I grabbed him, all gangly 44 pounds of him, and carried him to the living room. His eyes were now open, but there was no spark of excitement or joy in them - just the glaze of deep sleep.

"It was great, Erik! Jack Morris pitched 10 innings and the Twins finally scored a run in the bottom of the 10th. It was the most exciting game I've ever seen."

We watched the celebration for five minutes. Erik struggled to keep his eyes open, never saying a word. We watched the replay of the winning hit, and then I took him back to his room. He climbed into bed as if in a trance and was sound asleep in seconds.

The next morning he remembered none of it.

But I remembered. I remembered sharing a special moment with my eldest son - a moment when the rest of the family was asleep, a moment when the problems of the world were set aside, a moment when men were joyful boys again, a moment when childhood dreams came true for those players on the Twins.

Over the years, many of my childhood dreams have died. I never made the winning basket in the state high school basketball tournament (I never even made the team). I never had dinner with the president of the United States. I never solved a notorious crime mystery like my storybook heroes, the Hardy Boys. And I never rocketed into outer space like John Glenn.

But on that Sunday night, as we watched the first part of the seventh game together and later as I cradled my sleepy son in my arms, one of my childhood dreams did come true - the dream of being a father to a son, to share excitement and disappointments with him, to share some knowledge of baseball and some wisdom of life, to play together, to learn together, and, most of all, simply to be together.

Randy Wedin, Eden Prairie. Father.

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