My father, left, and me outside Yankee Stadium in July 2014.

Sports was first a thing in my life because of my father. When I was old enough to hold a whiffle ball bat in my hands and bring it around to connect with a pitch, Richard Charles Kerekes made sure to teach me the sport of baseball.

Except instead of buying a full whiffle ball set, complete with the bases, my dad just bought the bat and the ball. A film technician by trade, but a handyman by hobby — actually, listening to him talk, both were hobbies — Dad instead opted to find some lumber and simply cut out home plate, the pitchers mound and the three bases, then paint them white and place them in a diamond formation in our backyard.

This past week, after a battle with cancer that lasted just more than a year, my father went on to be with his parents: my paternal grandfather, who I had the good fortune of meeting when I was a child before his death in 1995, and a paternal grandmother who died a few years before I was born, who I won’t be meeting until I see my father again in the next life.

From our backyard on Toomin Drive in Neptune, N.J., we made our way literally down the street to a youth baseball complex, where Dad signed me up for tee ball. I don’t remember much from those playing days except for the time I wouldn’t stop running around the bases even though I wasn’t supposed to advance beyond first, only to be tackled by my coach at home plate and forced to return to first. I don’t remember my father’s reaction to that, but I imagine there was at least a bit of a chuckle.

My first sporting event I attended was a New York Giants NFL game. I’m too young to remember much about the game, other than it was a back-and-forth one. I’m pretty sure the Giants won, but I don’t even remember that. I’m going to just assume it was at the now-defunct Giants Stadium since East Rutherford, N.J., isn’t but an hour or so from Neptune. 

It wasn’t my last ball game with Dad, obviously. After we moved to Alabama in 1995, I had the misfortune of attending an Alabama-Tennessee game at Legion Field within the next few years. Have you ever been to Legion Field? If you haven’t, let me just say by that point in the stadium’s lifespan, it made the most “meh” high school field look like Jerry World by comparison, and it’s in a bad neighborhood to boot. The game wasn’t even that good, either — I can’t remember the year it was we went, but Tennessee took it to Alabama. Donald Trump has a better chance of winning next month’s election than Alabama had against Tennessee that night. 

I wanted to go home by the half. That night, I got a lesson from Dad about good fans, and how they stay until the last second on the clocks ticks down. So when I wasn’t praying our car wouldn’t get broken into, I was praying for a running clock. 

The older I got, the more I grew to appreciate my father. His job kept him working in New York City and staying with his brother in New Jersey, and while I obviously wish he were home more, I knew he did what he did so me, my mother and brothers could have a good life. He would always make time to visit home throughout the year, was always home for Thanksgiving and Christmas and even got a few months off in the summer to be with us. Plus, how cool was it for me to tell my friends he was a film technician for shows like “Law and Order” or “Blue Bloods”? Not to mention having worked on one of the “Crocodile Dundee” movies or the Oscar-nominated “Cedar House Rules.” To hear him tell it, it never felt like work, his words, and that’s something that will always stick out to me.

I watched countless games with Dad over the years, but the most recent one I attended with him was summer 2014, when me, him and his brother took a trip to Yankee Stadium to watch the Bronx Bombers play the Cincinnati Reds. It was a great experience being with the two of them, and the Yankees won, so I was even able to put aside my disdain for interleague play and enjoy the moment.

Dad turned 68 a few days before he died. While I will always wish we had more time together, I will always be grateful for the 29 years of great memories, sports and otherwise. I love you, Dad, and hope I can continue to make you proud.

Drew Kerekes is the sports editor of The Meridian Star. He can be reached at dkerekes@themeridianstar.com.