What an absolutely DOMINANT SUMMER SEASON for Oliver!!!
BA: .615
OBP: .706
SLG: .923
OPS: 1.629
An OPS of 1.629 is absolute elite status… slugging nearly 1.000 while keeping an on-base percentage over .700 means he was a pitcher’s worst nightmare!
Watching these kids come into their own during the summer travel season after a long LL and Regular Travel Season was so fun to watch!
Oliver batted second in the line-up. Played first base, short stop and pitched.
He also contributed as a pitcher in a huge win vs a division rival in which he and three other pitchers combined for a No-Hitter.
If this spring’s Cubs travel season was his coming out party… this summer season was his domination celebration!!!
Some stories couldn’t be scripted any better… Jax’ final Little League at-bat ever (Seabreeze Summer Travel League) as he ages out of little league baseball forever, turned into a storybook ending.
Four years ago Jax was hit in the face batting right handed (a horrible experience and injury). After being hit by that pitch all those years ago and because of it spending nearly the last four years hitting exclusively left-handed, he finally stepped into the batter’s box from the right side again… one last time… in his last ever little league at-bat. Few people will know what he went through to get to this place and few people would work as hard as he did to get there.
First right-handed at-bat in years… And he delivered. A base hit. The game ball.
A perfect ending to an unforgettable Little League chapter and I got to watch it unfold from the first base coaches box.
Baseball has a funny way of coming full circle. From learning the game as a little kid to growing into the player and teammate you’ve become, every swing, every practice, every win, every setback led to this moment.
Jax,
I couldn’t be prouder… not because of the hit or the game ball, but because of the work, resilience, humility, and love for the game you’ve shown every step of the way.
Keep chasing greatness, buddy. I’ll always be your biggest fan. 💚⚾️
What an unbelievable travel baseball season this was.
Watching Oliver grow this year wasn’t just about the numbers—it was about watching him become the kind of baseball player every coach hopes to have.
From the very first winter workout to the final out of the season, he put in the work. Even when he wasn’t able to practice right away, he never missed a winter workout. He was there for his teammates, listening to every instruction, learning, encouraging others, and helping to throw soft-toss BP because he simply wanted to be part of the team.
That says everything about the player and teammate he is.
This season, Oliver became a fixture in the lineup because he earned it. Every time he stepped into the batter’s box, pitchers knew they weren’t getting an easy out. He battled through every at-bat, worked deep counts, sprayed line drives, took his walks when they came, and then wreaked havoc on the bases. His smile never disappeared, either—which I’m sure made a few pitchers wonder how someone having that much fun could be so difficult to get out. Nothing exemplifies that more than his first ever inside the park home-run. I’m pretty sure he could have circled the bases twice that at bat and no one would have blinked an eye!!!
Another part of Oliver’s game that really took off this season was his pitching. He developed into a reliable arm that coach could hand the ball to with confidence (somewhat). He attacked hitters with a fastball that surprised a lot of kids, and when he was around the zone, he was downright electric. There were innings where he’d strike out the side and make it look easy… and then, there were also those innings where he’d issue a few free passes before finding the strike zone again… but the funny part is that even then, he rarely gave up any hits, if any. It almost became a running joke: he was either going to strike out the side… or walk the bases loaded before striking everyone out anyway. Watching his confidence and control grow throughout the season was one of the biggest highlights of the year, and it’s exciting to think about how much more is still ahead.
What makes me the proudest isn’t that he threw so hard on the mound, or finished near the top of almost every offensive category. It’s that he genuinely loves baseball. He loves competing. He loves practicing. He loves learning from his coaches. And most of all, he loves taking the field every weekend with his best friends. You can see it in the way he plays—with energy, confidence, and joy.
Every coach talks about wanting players who are coachable, dependable, selfless, and willing to outwork everyone else. That’s exactly who Oliver strives to be. He’s the first to celebrate a teammate’s success, the first to ask how he can improve, and the type of kid who leaves everything he has on the field.
A huge thank you to Coach Joe and Coach Kevin for believing in him all season and helping him grow into the player he is becoming. Thank you to Coach Hector and Jose for all of the hitting instruction, and Coach Ralph for the countless pitching lessons. We couldn’t be more grateful for everything you’ve poured into him.
Oliver finished the season: 🏆 1st in Stolen Bases 🏆 1st in Walks 🥈 2nd in Runs ⚾ Top 3 on the team in Batting Average, RBIs, OBP and OPS.
Tonight didn’t end with our team on top of the scoreboard, but that hardly mattered. What mattered was the camaraderie, the laughter in the dugout, the encouragement between teammates, and the pure joy of kids playing the game they love. That’s what Little League baseball is all about.
And for Jackson, it was a night he will never forget.
On May 18, 2026, Jax recorded his first career strikeout. One batter, three strikes, and a moment that will be etched in our family’s baseball memory forever. The smile on his face says it all.
To top it off, he was awarded the game ball.
Not because we won. Not because of stats. But because of the effort, the perseverance, and the excitement of reaching a milestone he has worked so hard for.
Baseball has a funny way of teaching kids that success isn’t always measured by the final score. Sometimes the biggest victories come in the small moments—a first strikeout, supportive teammates, and the confidence that grows with every inning. Proud doesn’t even begin to describe how we feel.
Way to go, Jax. ⚾🏆💛 #FirstCareerStrikeout #GameBall #ProudDad #LittleLeagueMemories #BaseballMoments
It’s one of those numbers that doesn’t feel like it should carry as much weight as it does. It’s still tucked between childhood and whatever comes next, still young enough that you’re figuring things out in real time, but old enough that I can see the edges of the person you’re becoming starting to sharpen a bit more each year.
I remember writing your first birthday letters thinking I had all the time in the world to understand you. Like growing up was something I could map out, predict, maybe even slow down if I paid close enough attention. I know better now.
You don’t slow down.
You expand.
This year I’ve noticed the way you think before you speak more often. The way you notice things other people miss. The way you care—sometimes quietly, sometimes in bursts that surprise even you. There’s something about twelve that starts to show the kind of person you’re choosing to be when no one is directing the moment for you.
That part matters more than anything else.
Not the grades. Not the stats. Not the wins or losses or comparisons that the world will try to hand you.
Just that quiet question you answer every day without saying it out loud: Who am I going to be when it’s just me deciding?
I see you working on that answer.
And I want you to know—I’m proud of you in ways that don’t always fit into the usual words. Not just for what you do right, but for how you keep going when things feel off, or hard, or confusing. That’s where character actually lives. Not in the highlight moments, but in the in-between ones no one claps for.
Twelve is also where the world starts getting louder. People will start telling you what you should be, how you should act, what you should want. Some of it will be helpful. Some of it won’t fit you at all.
You don’t have to rush to sort it all out.
You just have to keep showing up as yourself, even while you’re still figuring out who that is.
That’s more than enough.
As your dad, I still have moments where I look at you and see flashes of the little kid you were—then it shifts, and I see something new layered on top of it. It’s a strange thing, watching someone you love grow in real time. It’s beautiful and a little bit heartbreaking all at once.
Because every year you don’t just get older.
You also move a little further from who you’ve been.
But I need you to know something clearly: no matter how far you go, you are never outgrowing my love for you. It doesn’t shrink to fit the version of you that was—it just keeps expanding to meet the version of you that is.
So on your 12th birthday, I hope you give yourself room to enjoy it. To laugh a little louder than usual. To do something that makes no sense except that it feels like fun. To be fully in it, without worrying about what comes next for just a little while.
Because you’ll have plenty of time for everything else.
Happy birthday, Jax.
Keep going. Keep becoming. Keep surprising me.
I’m with you in all of it.
Love Always,
Dad
April 27, 2014 April 27, 2015 April 27, 2016 April 27, 2017 April 27, 2018 April 27, 2019 April 27, 2020 April 27, 2021 April 27, 2022
We were going to just say “Love you” and call it a day… but apparently that’s “not thoughtful enough.”
So here we go.
First of all, congratulations on surviving another year of raising us.
That alone deserves cake.
We know we don’t always make it easy. There’s the constant complaining. The arguing about absolutely nothing. The selective hearing. The mysterious disappearance of clean towels.
And yet… you’re still here.
Still making sure we’re up on time. Still reminding us about homework we “already did” (we didn’t). Still driving us everywhere like you’re running a free Uber service.
We act like we don’t notice, but we do.
We notice that you show up to everything. You are the best cheerleader in the history of the world! We notice that you somehow know when something’s wrong — even when we say, “It’s fine.” We notice that when we’re stressed, you’re calm. And when we’re being ridiculous, you’re… mostly calm.
You’re the only person who can hug us, feed us, help us, and threaten to take our electronics away — all in the same five minutes.
It’s impressive.
You keep this whole thing running. You care about stuff we forget to care about
Trumpets
Water bottles
Our Sweatshirts
Vegatables
And even when we pretend getting older means we don’t need as much help, we’ll always need you.
We’re really lucky you’re our mom.
So today, we hope you get:
– A quiet cup of coffee – Zero arguments – No one asking “What’s for dinner?” – And maybe at least one full hour where nobody needs anything.
Today you turn nine, and somehow that number feels both impossible and exactly right. Another year older, another year watching you grow into more of who you already are… curious, energetic, kind, and endlessly yourself.
You move through the world with a confidence (and craziness) that still amazes me. Whether you’re running full speed toward something you love or quietly figuring things out in your own way, you approach life with a determination that can’t be taught. You don’t half-do things. You give effort, heart, and enthusiasm—even when it’s hard, even when it doesn’t come easy. Everyday I’m reminded how uniquely you you are
This past year, I’ve seen you stretch in ways big and small. You tried new things. You stuck with things that challenged you. You learned when to push forward and when to pause. And through it all, you kept that smile… the one that shows up when you’re proud of yourself or when you know you gave it your best.
Watching you with Wednesday is one of my favorite parts of being your dad. The laughter, the chaos, and those quieter moments when you’re just together show a bond that only boys and dogs can have. No matter what, I know you’ll always have each other—and that brings me more comfort than you’ll ever know.
You have a way of filling a room just by being in it. Your humor sneaks up on people. Your joy is contagious. And even on the loud days… the exhausting days… I wouldn’t trade a single second of being your dad. You remind me constantly that life is meant to be lived with excitement, curiosity, and a little bit of crazy.
As you step into your ninth year, my hope for you is simple: keep being you. Keep asking questions. Keep trying. Keep believing in yourself, even when things don’t go perfectly. You are loved more than you can imagine… not just today, but every single day.
There are certain games that stick with you — not because of the final score, but because of the way they’re played. The kind where effort shows up in every possession and leadership doesn’t need to be loud to be felt (and coming from me, that’s saying something). This one happened to be my first game stepping in as head coach, but what made it memorable had very little to do with me.
This weekend was one of those games for Jackson.
From the opening tip, he was locked in. Focused. Ready to do whatever the team needed… and as the game unfolded, it became clear that his impact wasn’t going to be measured just in points, but in stops, hustle plays, and moments that quietly changed the direction of the game.
Let’s start with defense — because that’s where this game was won long before the scoreboard caught up.
Jax, you took on their best shooter and shut him down. He managed just one shot all game because you were everywhere — hands up, feet moving, body in the right place every possession. You forced tough jumpers and never let him get comfortable. That kind of defense doesn’t always show up in the stat sheet, but it wins games. Your defense was locked in, disciplined, and relentless.
Then there was the hustle.
The ball felt like it had your name on it. You kept it alive over and over — offensive rebounds, assists, steals, tip-outs — just refusing to let possessions die. When we were down by six and momentum wasn’t ours, you were the spark.
No one in this league wants to see you defending them and for sure no one wants to drive the lane and see you standing in the key. You’re like a young Dennis Rodman (before he dyed his hair like an Easter egg). Those extra efforts don’t always go as stats in the box score, but they change everything. They kept us in the game and helped turn it around.
Slowly, possession by possession, we climbed back.
Eventually, we took the lead. Eventually, we won.
And there you were, right in the middle of it — leading the way, doing the little things, helping us come back and keep our team in first place.
Jackson, this was your game. And it’s one I’ll never forget.
PS: I plan on retiring with an undefeated head coaching record!
By the end of 2025, I realized I had spent most of the year trying to keep pace — not just with schedules or seasons, but with the quiet, steady way Jackson and Oliver were growing right in front of me. This wasn’t a year defined by one headline moment. It was a year defined by accumulation — small changes stacking up until suddenly, unmistakably, things felt different.
Both boys took real steps forward this year, though in very different ways. Oliver’s year was full of momentum. He played up in sports, took on bigger competition, and carried himself with a confidence that felt new — not loud or cocky, but earned. There were moments when the game seemed to slow down for him, when he trusted his instincts and went for it. Watching him compete against older kids and belong on the field with them was one of those parenting moments where pride and disbelief exist at the same time. Just as meaningful, though, were the moments when things didn’t go his way — the tough losses, the playoff ending, the frustration — and seeing him learn how to process that, reset, and come back ready to work.
Jackson’s growth in 2025 was quieter, but no less significant. He found his place — not by forcing it, but by steadily earning it. I watched him grow more confident in himself, more comfortable stepping in when needed, contributing in ways that mattered, that he earned himself by putting in the work and getting results in big moments. There were moments this year where he surprised me — not with flash, but with consistency, awareness, and leadership that showed up when it counted. He became more sure of who he is, and less concerned with proving it to anyone but himself.
Sports were a big part of the backdrop this year, but they were never really the point. They were just the setting where so many lessons played out — about effort, resilience, teamwork, and handling disappointment with maturity. I watched both boys learn how to lose, how to support teammates, and how to show up the next day regardless of the outcome. Those were the moments that stuck far longer than any score.
Jackson has always stood out. Known as the “mayor of his school,” and being asked to coach the younger football team (earning his own coaching whistle), Jax had already cemented a place among the wise beyond his years crowd.
2025 gave Oliver one of the more unexpected experiences of 2025… seeing people outside our family take notice of him — not just for his ability, but for his heart and effort. this year seeing strangers rally around Oliver was humbling and emotional in a way I didn’t anticipate. It forced me to pause and see him not just as my little boy, but as someone capable of inspiring people simply by being himself. At the same time, it reminded me how lucky Jackson and Oliver are to have each other — one pushing, one steadying, both learning what it means to grow side by side.
And then there were the moments that had nothing to do with sports at all. Near the end of the year, we took down the bunk beds the boys had shared for years and gave them separate rooms. It felt like a practical decision — until it didn’t. That first night, standing in the hallway with two closed doors instead of one shared space, landed heavier than I expected. It marked the end of late-night conversations, shared laughter, and the comfort of knowing they were just a few feet apart. Jackson was ready. Oliver was ready. I wasn’t sure I was — but that’s usually how these transitions go.
Looking back, 2025 wasn’t about milestones you circle on a calendar. It was about watching independence take shape in real time. It was about realizing that the things I used to focus on — wins, stats, outcomes — mattered less than character, effort, and growth. It was about seeing Jackson become more grounded in himself, and Oliver begin to test just how far his drive could take him.
As the year closed, I felt deeply grateful. Not because everything went perfectly — it didn’t — but because I was present enough to notice the changes while they were happening even if watching those changes happened while the boys quietly closed the doors to their own rooms for the first time in many years. The practices, the car rides, the quiet talks, the proud moments, and even the silence after lights out — that was 2025.
We’re heading into a new year now, and I know the pace won’t slow down. But this year reminded me that growth doesn’t need to be rushed or measured to matter. Sometimes it just needs to be noticed, because realizing they are now forging their own path and leading their own journey is not just hard to handle… it’s exactly what you’re been raising them to do.
Sometimes the view from the hallway comes with the best seats in the house — if only you don’t mind a little distance from the action.
