CARLTON FLETCHER: Perfect Fathers Day gifts have already been given

“As sure as one and one are two. There can never be a father who loves his daughter (and son) as much as I love you.”

— Paul Simon

As I sat there in the left field “home run pavilion” at Truist Park with my son Steve and 39,000 of our close friends, I couldn’t help thinking about my dad, Bobby Fletcher.

I thought about the days he’d come home from a hard day’s work — a real hard day’s work, not pushing pencils around behind a desk but laying bricks in the merciless south Georgia heat — and he’d still find time to toss a baseball around or hit my brother and me a few fly balls until it got too dark to see.

I grew up loving baseball because of those days with my father. That and listening to Atlanta Braves games on a portable radio made me a fan for life.

Truth be told, if life were fair — and inclined to grant me everything I wanted — I’d be an assistant to Braves Manager Brian Snitker now, having retired after an unspectacular but modestly successful career.

Or maybe I’d do better as an analyst, sharing my wisdom and insights alongside Chip, Frenchie and Glavine on Braves TV and radio broadcasts. (Yeah, maybe radio would be better, having been blessed with a face more welcome in that medium.)

I dreamed those dreams because Bobby Fletcher taught me how to play and love the game.

I tried to pass that same love on to Steve, but I don’t know how good a job I did. He turned out to be a better hitter than his old man (I was faster!), but I don’t know that I instilled the same passion in him as my dad did me. I tell myself that he had so many interests he couldn’t really focus on one, but that’s probably wishful thinking on my part.

That trip to Atlanta was an early Fathers Day gift for Steve (he’s a dad, too, and a great one) and me, an opportunity for us to reconnect and catch up on each other’s lives. That’s exactly what it became, and I’ll cherish the time we had.

As this Fathers Day has approached, I’ve thought a little more about my kids and our relationships, about how they’ve impacted my life. I’m brought to tears by some of the memories with these kids who share my DNA … the good, the bad and the in-between. And, like many fathers, I wish I had a whole bagful of mulligans, do-overs that would allow me to change some things.

But I know that’s not the way life works.

So I’m going to spend some time on Sunday just thinking about Steve and about his sisters, Jordan and Hannah. I’m going to think about the “daddy moments” that are fewer than they should be, but I’m going to savor every one of them. I’m going to look at old pictures, reminisce, probably cry a little bit and wish some things were different. But it’s not going to be a sad day.

Because as melancholy as it can get thinking about wasted opportunities and how life has a way of leaving you in the dust of each new generation’s quest to find where they fit in in this ever-evolving kaleidoscope of an existence, there are those precious moments that balance the equation.

There are the birth pictures, trick-or-treat costumes , the plays, the games (invisible ball still rules!), the sharp new clothes, the sports teams, the piano recitals, the graduations, the wonder of all those firsts that the world offers. There are the funny dances, the sleepovers, the parties, new pets, new friends, awards, grasping new concepts, special vacations, beach trips, all the wonders and discoveries that life brings.

And that trip to Truist Park.

Those are the things I’ll think most of on Fathers Day, things that defined these three lives and intertwined those lives with mine. I’ll never be anyone’s Father of the Year, but I love my kids fiercely and as completely as a man can. And it’s why this Fathers Day will be as special. No gifts required.