David Harrison
Playing catch with my dad, Richard Sr, and brothers is one of many fond memories. On many weekends we could be found in the backyard or an empty dusty base ball field in sight of an Airforce runway throwing the ball until our arms were numb. Dad would always mix it up with grounders or a pop up. I would fake a bad throwback to add a small break in the pace. The smell of a leather glove always triggers this cool memory.