Last week I bought baseball gloves and a ball so I can teach my son how to play baseball. Learning to play baseball is like a rite of passage for all American boys. After all, it is known as the American pastime.

Trying to be a good father, I will not deprive my boy of this opportunity, even if I’m far from qualified to teach the game. I just hope that I will not injure my kid and myself doing this.

I don’t like baseball. I don’t like playing it (not just that I don’t know how). And I don’t even like watching it (especially with all that chewing and spitting). Moreover, who plays baseball in the streets of Manila? But that besides the point. My son needs to learn it for the sake of our adopted culture.

As I was teaching my boy how to catch the ball with the gloves (as I myself was also learning), I was surprised that my daughter was interested too. So she borrowed my gloves, and she and her brother played and learned catch. I was more surprised on how quickly they picked-up the skills. As I sat watching my kids play baseball, I thought to myself that this will be my contribution in Americanizing (is that a word?) my children.

Tomorrow, I’ll teach them how to hit a can with slippers, and play tumbang preso.