REVIEW

State of Illinois Proclamation from
Governor Jame Thompson, Jeffrey Jackson, June 2…

More random news articles after games...

News article about me and Micheal Chang...

News article with comments from my
high school coach, Coach Franklin...

News article speculations about where I may go in the draft...

News article after I was drafted by the Phillies...



CHAPTER FOUR

LIFE CHANGING EXPERIENCE

Iwas 17 years old and my life had changed forever. It was
the middle of June in 1989. I had just graduated from Neal
F. Simeon High School only a day before. The next day I was
on a plane headed to Martinsville, VA, starting my
professional baseball career with the Philadelphia Phillies
rookie ball club, the Martinsville Phillies.

There were no goodbyes to my friends, no graduation party,
no time to take it all in. My career in pro baseball began just
like that - after years of hard work, a lot of prayers and a build-
up of coincidences that I "thought" prepared me for that
moment...but it wasn't enough. I had absolutely no idea what I

was in for. At the time, I was just excited like any young man
who was handed a large paycheck, a travel schedule, and
endless possibilities.

As I mentioned, a week before, a group of baseball scouts
from the Philadelphia Phillies was sitting in my living room,
along with my mom, step-dad, my H.S coach Leroy Franklin,
little league coach Mr. Haley, Chicago Sun-Times reporter
Clyde Travis and myself. They were throwing numbers around
about my signing bonus and making decisions regarding
contracts, while I sat and did what most 17-year-olds would
do. I listened and took in the conversation that they were
having. After they all left, me and my mom had a conversation
about the meeting. I just remembered being super excited
about signing the contract and thinking about what kind of car
I was going to buy, that's all I cared about.

After a few days of talking it over with my parents, I told
them I was very excited and that I wanted to take this
opportunity to play pro-ball. They agreed and I signed the
contract. I officially became the 1st round pick for the
Philadelphia Phillies that day.

The plane ride to Martinsville, VA made it real. Going by
myself felt like an instant introduction to adulthood. Being
alone in a small town away from the tight-knit family and
friends I was used to, I was more aware of my race and my
youth like never before. I was handling the ups and downs of
both my teenage hormones and the duties of being the 1st
round draft pick, a big title given to me, whether I had earned
it or not. It was all sealing its impact on my life.

Graduation Day from Neal F. Simeon High School
with Assistant Principle Mrs. Gahram

Looking back, I remember praying to GOD every single night
to let me be drafted! I never asked to be a 1st round pick. I
just wanted the opportunity to play in the minors like a few
guys I looked up to from my area, Wes Chamberlin (Pittsburgh
Pirates) and Darryl Robinson (KC Royals).

But you have to be careful what you pray for. You have to
make sure you are mature enough and emotionally prepared to
handle all that comes with what you request, because not only
does God answer prayers, but he tends to give you more than
what you ask for, in my opinion, he definitely answered! 37.
Or maybe I may have even manifested my future as a #1 draft
pick, or it was a combination of both.

One day at my mom's house, I was looking at baseball
pictures from little league and noticed how in pictures, years
before I was drafted, I would hold up my finger to represent
the #1 sign. Every picture would show me smiling and holding

that finger as if I was aware that I was something special. I
didn't know it then, but it actually manifested into me
becoming a #1 draft pick.

I lied to my teacher once in high school, way before I was
even on the baseball scouts radar. I assured her that I was a
top high school baseball prospect in the city way before the
scouts even knew my name; saying that I needed a passing
grade in accounting or it would affect my chances of getting
drafted. I actually deserved to fail that year due to an illness
which kept me out of school for a week.

Me and my teammate Barry Freeman pictured in this photo after
advancing to the Little League World Series...

Me throwing up the #1 sign after the victory...

I got lost in class after that, and never caught back up - I didn't
try to. Instead, for some odd reason, I would use the time to
practice writing my autograph as if I knew the practice would
come in handy soon. Accounting was hard, and if she had
failed me, I would not have been allowed to play baseball at all
that year. Thank God she gave me a passing grade.

God definitely poured out his blessings upon my life. At the
beginning of the season, I was not even considered a top H.S.
baseball prospect, in the city of Chicago; but, by the end of
that season, I was the number #1 H.S. player in the nation!

It was a great experience to be drafted by a professional
baseball franchise as a young African American youth from the
inner-city. To be perfectly honest it was one of the best
experiences I ever had in my life. Baseball to America is like
the holy grail of sports, a part of the quilt that makes America
great - the National Past- Time! For some, it is not a game, it is
a religion. I was given an incredible task that my entire
personal and professional experience had not prepared me for.
There is really no one to blame - every occurrence/coincidence
has its place in the creation of my journey and my destiny.

I was a kid, a 17 yrs. old rookie, coming straight from high
school versus others who were 20plus yrs. old college players
like many of my teammates. Then, I was given the title of the
1st round draft pick, representing the face, the brand and the
top player for the entire Phillies organization to watch.

The pressure became real immediately. If I could do it all
again, I would have handled things a lot differently, but at the
time I did my best…

Me pictured my first day in a Phillies Uniform
with the Martinsville Phillies...



CHAPTER FIVE

THE FIRST DAY ON THE JOB

Iarrived in Martinsville, VA. the very next day after my
graduation. That evening I showed up at the ballpark.
Nobody was there except me, Roly DeAarmis (the manager),
Craig Strobel (the trainer) and I think someone from the front
office. Roly introduced himself to me as the man in charge. He
showed me my locker and told me that I need to be at the park
the next day at 3 p.m.

The next day I arrived at the park at precisely 3 p.m. as
instructed.

It wasn't good.
When I showed up, I not only was surprised to see my other
teammates already on the field, practicing and running
around, but I had been also met by what seemed like a handful
of reporters who were there waiting on me to ask me questions
and do interviews.
I was baffled, to say the least. However, no matter how
confused I may have been, I made my way down to the field
while answering questions.
My manager asked, “Why are you late?”
I replied, “I thought you said that I had to be here at 3
p.m.?”
He said, “I did, but in pro ball, 3 p.m. means be on the
field ready to go, not show up at 3 p.m.”
That lesson always stuck with me for the rest of my life.
I have always made sure, from that day forward that I
showed up early to any place I needed to be. It taught me to be
about punctuality because on the very first day of my
professional career, I was considered late.
To make matters worse, being late and having the press
in tow was not the best introduction to the teammates I had yet
to meet.
I could see by the look on their faces that they were not too
impressed with my arrival.
After all, I was the #1 Draft Pick, not only black, but young,
and straight out of high school. Most Professional Minor
League ballplayers had some college experience or were

recruited from college. I and only a few more of my teammates
came straight from high school, but none carried the weight of
the expectancy like I did as the first round draft pick.

Everybody wants to be the first round draft pick. It is an
honor and a privilege for young boys who have given their
whole childhood chasing that American dream. I had it, thus, I
had the Bull's eye on my back. I felt the sting of it, especially
the first day.

After the manager tells me I am late. I went to change and
came back with the intent to try to mix in with the guys.

Intuitively, I started looking for all the black people on the
team. From where I was from the white boys were considered
our rivals. It was not that we hated or disliked them, or vice
versa. It was always, I guess, a competitive battle of pride and
ego, even at that early age. I played baseball against them in
little leagues throughout my youth, but never on the same
team.

It was never, as it would be now, that close and
professional, or dare I say, personal. I knew that would be
another obstacle to overcome. How could it not now be
somewhat personal when we would be expected to spend our
days together as a team, day in and day out, traveling on buses
and moving around the country in and out of hotels?

People seek familiarity in new places. Just two days before,

I was with my black family, at my all black school, with my all
black friends, in my all black neighborhood. I am from the
Southside of Chicago, which is probably one of the most
segregated cities in America, according to many. Primarily,
black people live amongst black people, period.

Me and my teammates pictured rookie season
with Martinsville Phillies.

I was now the houseguest of a white family, living in their
home in what seemed like my own apartment. Tom and Sue
were their names. They were gone a lot, as they were always
working. The experience itself was something to get used to
considering I had never been away from home alone, or away
from my family, in such a way. They trusted a young black
teenager to do the right things, and I had to trust myself.

There was no chaperone, no mentor assigned, no liaison. It
was just me, at 17, feeling like I was invincible, but yet feeling
the pressure of living up to all the hype and expectations that
others, and I, placed on myself. That was the deal from day
one.

Me , Tom and Sue having a chat before the game.

But now here I was, in this small town of Martinsville, Virginia
all within 24 hours of graduating high school.

I always asserted a sense of leadership and solidness that
may have given the impression that I had it all together and I
could handle it all but the truth of the matter was I was culture
shocked. My behavior and reactions to the unfamiliar, and
sometimes rude, or insensitive, actions of my teammates, fans,
and even management would reveal the truth soon enough.

Ironically, the first two black guys I walked up to on the
field that day spoke Spanish. I admit I was a little thrown off
by that. Again, I hadn't seen that from back home. However, I

found my way to two young black guys that ended up being
straight out of high like myself. Paul Carlson and my boy
Corey (C.T.) Thomas ended up being the guys I gravitated to
the most as our age, and common experiences help us form a
decent bond. I am still friends with Paul today we talk and
hang out from time to time when we can.

Paul, Corey and Me chilling in the locker room before a game.

CHAPTER SIX

THE WOODEN BAT, THE WRONG SWING?

Minor League Baseball is supposed to be where you take
the time to develop the up and coming talent within that
system. It is a starting point where the future stars of baseball
can emerge as they prepare for the Major Leagues.

To the small towns who had no real entertainment beyond
baseball activities, the Minor League team is a big deal.

To the baseball world, the first round draft pick is the best
possible talent that an organization will take to help turn
around a team, or help a franchise win games, and eventually a
championship. He, like myself, is given a hefty size signing
bonus (hence, the word „bonus baby", a name that's given to
first round draft picks). The organization usually gives him

preferential treatment over the other players. With that kind of
attention, money and special treatment you automatically come
with a target on your back unbeknownst to me...

So, when it was my turn to step into the batting cage to take
batting practice for the first time I was nervous as hell, it was
all eyes on me.

It should‟ve played out better, however, it didn't.
I was given a wooden bat, for the first time.
Now let me explain, in my entire baseball experience, up
until that time, in little league, and all throughout high school,
I played with an aluminum bat! It never crossed my mind,
even to try to get used to a wooden bat.
I must say every coach in my youth, and throughout high
school, taught me a skill or two, or helped lead me to victory;
even though the professional baseball scouts came and sat in
my home and talked to me about everything else, no one
mentioned, and I didn‟t know to ask, that I‟d better get used to
the wooden bat, and prepare for the permanent elimination of
the aluminum bat.
It would have been nice to practice with a wooden bat a few
times in my backyard, baseball field, batting cage, or with a
coach or two before I had what seemed like twenty reporters
and the media staring me down along with my new teammates!
The scenario, under any situation, with anyone, would be
nerve-wracking in itself, for the first time! As I said, I had no
time! One day I was graduating high school, the very next day
I was on the plane to Martinsville, VA, to begin my
professional career.

It would have been nice to have just been told any of that.
After all, wasn't everyone's reputation on the line? Simeon had
something to gain if I succeeded in the pros. The Philadelphia
Phillies looked better if their first pick makes it to the big
leagues and become a star, right?

I guess at 17, I was supposed to know everything, but I did
not. Sorry.

So…
I cracked the wooden bat… and not only did I crack that
first bat… but I probably cracked the next ten to twenty bats.
It was hard for me to focus on actually hitting the ball because
of all the attention being placed on me with this new bat. I felt
like a monkey in a cage!
After a while, the coaches' dissatisfaction began to show.
On the first day, they began to criticize everything from the
way I hit the ball… by the way, I held the bat in my hand… to
the way I positioned my baseball stance. To them, it was all
wrong, and they wanted me to change it all immediately! The
very first day I am being told to change the things that got me
drafted and signed in the first place.
“Why is your hitting stance like that?”
I replied...
"This is the way I hit it in high school."
Well, undoubtedly, I wasn't in high school any longer,
though just 24 hours made the difference. And though I was a
bit confused, both mentally and physically, that I suddenly
was told to change my stance, or that I wasn't hitting the ball
favorable to them, I had signed my contract that was going to
take care of my family and me back in Chicago. I split the first

half of the $185,000 signing bonus money with my mother. So
I was present and open to learning regardless of the sting to
my ego.

I don't know what I was expecting. I was here to play
baseball the way my 17-year- old mind had been trained to
play my whole life.

And though all eyes of reporters and the team were staring
at me, At that moment, I could take the pressure.

I could take the gut punch to my ego.
I could take the sudden changes I had to get used to…
But, what I couldn‟t take… was when Don Blasingame
(Minor League Field Director) looked me dead square in my
face, on that very first day of practice, and told me I'd never
make it in Professional Baseball if I continued to hit the way
that I was hitting, I don't think he even took into consideration
that a). I was nervous as hell, and b). It was my first time ever
picking up a wooden bat.
Perhaps he was breaking me down to build me back up
differently. It was an adjustment that I wasn't quite prepared
for. Remember, my way had gotten me drafted in the first
round. Did anyone have anything to say before I got chosen?
Before I move on, I want to say that I don‟t think he was trying
to be mean to me in any form. I am sure he never meant any
harm with the words he spoke, the point is you have to choose
your words carefully when speaking to people. You never know
what you may say to someone that will stick with them for a
long time or perhaps forever... be it good or bad.

News article with comments from Don Blasingame about
his thoughts on my playing ability...

News article with comments about what I need to do
to be successful as a hitter...

That day, at that moment, after those words of what seemed
like prophesied failure … from a person who you would think
would help me to be successful and mold me with words of
encouragement and confidence in my abilities…however that
wasn't the case; I lost my confidence… every ounce I brought
with me the very first day. And, I am not sure, over the course
of my ten year career if I ever gained it back. My lack of
confidence would show up later as resentfulness, bad
behavior, and rebellion.

My lack of confidence would stand in my own way, leaving
me searching for something outside of baseball to fill the void I
felt. But for now, it would trigger a depression and homesick
feelings I would fight for many years.

The first-day drama didn't end there.
I guess we all learn that sucking things up and letting
things go just comes with the territory of maturity, but how
mature is it when adults are creating negative self – images in
a teen?
Thinking about it all now, looking at my two children Jeff
and Asia who are in that age range in this present day, I
couldn‟t imagine them in the same situation. So many other
things would have been put in place to ensure their success; to
make sure they were protected emotionally and mentally.
Perhaps my family trusted that me being on a “team” meant I
would have built in mentors. That was not the case.
It was a “teammate” who made sure the next day of
practice, the second day after my arrival, to place a plastic toy
bat in my locker.

Newspaper article detailing how I'm struggling and
going thru a tough time...

This “joke” was a way to continue their teasing and taunting of
my breaking the wooden bats the day before in batting
practice.

It was a teammate that decided the first week was a good
time to do what they considered a “traditional joke” familiar to
all other baseball players, but me, at the time.

It was another hot day. I was in dugout sitting on the bench
waiting to start batting practice. My head was down as I was
trying to get some relief from the sun. Out of nowhere, my
teammate Chris Lowe, the prior Center Fielder before my
arrival, came and spat a wad of brown tobacco on my shoe…

Now at the time, I didn't know it was a joke, so when I
jumped up with a desire to defend myself against what I
thought was a form of disrespect, I was immediately
surrounded by the other players in an attempt to calm me
down.

All I knew before that moment was that he had spit on my

brand new Nikes. I wore a brand new fresh pair every other

day as part of a Nike Contract I had with them. To me, that

was downright disrespectful, and he was in violation. We

didn't do that where I came from without consequences. I

consider myself a playful person by nature, however, to me

that was crossing the line.

Again, no one warned me. I didn't understand the point of

it, We were there to work together, or so I thought. I surely

hope NOW the league gives more counsel and mental

preparation to young teen players. Instances like this would

spark a growing resentment and an eventual unyielding

rebellion in me. These instances would also contribute to me

being anti-social off the field. It stopped me from not hanging
out and trying to get to know my new teammates on a personal
level.

The jokes and playfulness, while I was in my adjustment
mode was too fast and too soon.

Newspaper article detailing about how I have not
played up to my potential..



CHAPTER SEVEN

HOME SICK

Iremember spending my first year calling my mother every
night, as I sat alone in my room laying on my bed
surrounded by the four walls all by myself after games. I was
home sick from the beginning and ready to come home the first
week.

My mother would talk me out of quitting, and coming home
every other day, with her words of encouragement. I would use
those words to make it through the next day, the next month,
and the next year.

It was my mother’s words that curtailed my longing to quit
and go home. I hated my everyday experiences, and it showed
up in the way I played the game.

If you asked me, I never played well or was never satisfied
with my stats; I was my own worst critic. I struggled to hit .200
my first year, which was mediocre in comparison to other
players or what was supposed to be expected of a first-round
pick.

The negative media, the ‘Boos, and Jeers,' appeared much
sooner than later. I heard it on the field almost every day from
the onlookers and fans who never let me forget it. They proved
the theories running around in my head and made matters
worse. I felt like I was letting everyone down including myself.

They say Negative energy travels 7 times faster than
positive energy. I can still remember the first time I heard the
‘Boos and Jeers’ It sounded louder than the cheers.

The Boos are what I held on to. It could be one naysayer in
a crowd of 99 cheers, but I heard that one 'Boo'!

I never forget the sound of them. Every time I heard one it

made me try harder, nevertheless, I applied more pressure to
myself, in order to please the fans. I was already damaged from
day one.

It wasn't until my parents showed up in Wytheville, VA. on
a surprise visit. The team was on a road trip, and I was in the
batter's circle. All of a sudden, I heard a very familiar voice
call my name "Jeffrey," I turned to see who it was and it was
my parents standing there! Needless to say that I was happy to
see them. I proceeded to get two hits that game. It was one of
my best games of the season up until that point.

News article with comments about the surprise visit from
my mom that helped me turn my game around...

For some strange reason when I look back at my baseball
career, it always seemed my mother always brought the best
out in me when I played in front of her. If I could do it all over
again, I would have made sure she was at all my games.

CHAPTER EIGHT

MY GOOD LUCK CHARM

I wouldn't call myself a momma's boy, but from day one, she
was indeed my first love, and I relied on her to be my
confidante like I have never relied on any other woman. She
was unequivocally my biggest supporter and always has been.
So, if my adoration for my mother makes me a "momma's boy,"
then call it what you will. There are other things worst to be
called.

Also, call it a blessing because being my mother's son who
took her words and advice to heart, I stayed out of more
trouble than I could have gotten into.

My mom‟s name is Armone Jackson-Honeycutt. She,
especially at that time, was my everything ... my world. She
still is! To me, she was a big part of my baseball life. My whole
career was centered around my mother.

I recognized that playing baseball made her proud of me,
and that made me want to pursue it even more. From the time I
joined little league up until my eventual departure from
professional baseball, my mom was my biggest cheerleader, in
this sport, like any other, we need our cheerleaders and a
support system! It is not that I didn‟t have an interest in
baseball for myself, but my mom inspired me to play. She is
my good luck charm for more reasons than one.

I am the third of my mother‟s four children and the
youngest son. My sibling's names are Keith, Katrice, and
Shonica. My biological father's name is Ike Thompson. He

was the papa that was the “rolling stone” as the famous
Temptations hit song indicated, whom I‟d see every few years,
and spend little time with. My mom, holding no grudge against
my dad, made her way through single parenthood until she met
and married the man I introduced to the world as my dad, Lee
Honeycutt.

Together, Lee and my mom eliminated any deficiencies that
I could've had not having my biological dad around on a
constant basis. I can't say I missed a beat. We were the

typical lower-middle-class family on the south side of Chicago
in the Fernwood neighborhood, with the one exception that
separated us from others, the swimming pool!

Me at age 7, giving my mom a big hug.

My brother Keith, my niece Essence, my sisters
Katrice, myself and Shonica.

Me, my mom and stepdad having a chat after one of my games…

My mom and stepdad visiting me in spring
training in Clearwater, Fl.

We were perhaps the only family with a pool in our yard in my
neighborhood, and that made us a bit cooler than most as it
always served as a backdrop for some cool pool party amongst
my friends.

This transition into baseball was all new to us. There wasn't
a manual that came with my new found success. We winged it
and tried to do the best we knew. I missed the hell out of my
family and friends back at home, but my mom substituted for
them all while I was away, by taking that phone call every
night and nurturing me through another day. I appreciated her
for that and looked forward to coming back home to my mom's
house in the off-season. We shared space with no problem.
She didn't mind the friends or the girls coming by, and she
allowed me to have my vices.

It was not that she condoned any of my behavior. My mom
just wanted to make sure I was safe, protected, and not in the
streets. And though my mom had a job, she made sure to take
off work and take the long drive, to what was normally
Clearwater, Florida, with me to make sure I arrived back to
spring training on time.

We were tight. Like I mentioned earlier, it seemed my mom
had a strange effect on my performance. I could probably

count on two hands, over the course of my ten years in
baseball that I was actually proud of my performance. In fact,
the newspapers and media never had to criticize me; I did it to
myself. It was early on that I noticed that whenever my mom
was in the audience, even if she showed up to surprise me,
which was one or two times out of the year, I always played
better than normal.

One time, in particular, I remember talking to my mom on
the phone and she could tell I was feeling down and not really
in a good space. She immediately made arrangements to visit
me in Reading, Pennsylvania. Where I was playing double-A,
at the time. Although she told me she was coming to visit, I
couldn't shake the sadness I was feeling.

I was in a huge slump and had not been playing well. But
yet again, after my mom and step-dad arrived in Reading, and
I had a chance to see them, and have a few home cooked
meals, I broke out of my slump and proceeded to win „Player
of the Week' while she was there visiting me. That's the kind of
effect my mother had on my game.

It was like she gave me the energy that I couldn't give
myself. She made a huge difference in how well I played.

Perhaps the homesickness that I was feeling was cured when I
would see her face, but whatever it was, it worked!

My mom also carried my burdens with her. She carries
regrets, just like I do, perhaps, about what she could have
done differently, to ensure my success and help me prosper in
baseball. She now often wonders if she should have quit her
job, moved the family, or just did something a bit different to
give me a better chance at succeeding.

I now find myself nurturing her through those feelings
whenever we speak about it now. I let her know that she did
her best at the time, and it‟s not her fault that I didn‟t make it
to the big leagues. I am the only one to blame!

Again, I was a 17-year-old kid from the inner city of
Chicago; given a chance of a lifetime, with little guidance or
counsel from the outside, we did the best we could. My mom,

showing up, as she did, when she did, was all I could have
asked for. It helped Then or now.

She is still, and always will be my lucky charm.



CHAPTER NINE

MY FIRST LOVE

Motherly love is one thing. The love of a woman is another.
There are several women I would come to know, learn to
like, and even love. I considered the love of women, the
admiring, chasing, and the conquering, to be skills that came
naturally to me. I used those skills to my benefit over the
years, especially in the immaturity of my youth.

However, there was only one girl that had my heart from the
beginning of my senior year in high school up until I was 25

yrs. old. Her name was Theresa. She was my first true love and
would become the mother of my first child years later, a
beautiful son named Jeffrey Jr.

At 6’3 with a medium athletic build and dark skin, people
would consider me Tall, Dark, and Handsome.

And, yes, I let my looks work for me like any young man
would-for the ladies! I mean my story is typical. The
immediate male role models in my life were my biological dad
Ike Thompson, and my Uncle Earl; one who was a small-time
hustler and the other a certified gangster and playboy.

They showed me their versions of how to love a woman, and
I wouldn't say that was necessarily a good thing. I have been
the asshole, the player, the cheater, and so on. I never had a
shortage of woman giving me attention, and I loved it! I never
grew tired of the advantage, until perhaps, I got a little older,
and had my own beautiful daughter later named Asia.

Being attractive, and a professional baseball player at such
a young age with hundreds of thousands of dollars, I would be
lying if I told you that I didn't let ego, arrogance, and pride get
in the way of my relationship with Theresa.

Theresa was the girl that every guy wanted in high school. A
petite pretty chocolate brown girl with Asian shaped eyes, with
a swag more mature than most girls her age. She didn't date
guys that went to our school, as it seemed she was into older
guys. So, when she accepted an invitation to attend a pool
party at my house, at the beginning of my senior year, I was
surprised. I used that opportunity to shoot my shot at dating
her, and that was the beginning.

I know Theresa loved me.

Me and Theresa on Prom Night...

We had the typical teen romance that transitioned, as any
relationship would, as my career took off and my fame grew
she got swept into the mix as well. In fact, we started dating at
the beginning of my senior year when a baseball contract
wasn't even in my thoughts. I was a just a regular player on the
team.

The whirlwind of it all happened fast in the year of 1989,
and she was swept up into it just like my family and me. She
went through all the stages that every girl that dates a star
athlete goes through.

Like everyone else, she was elated for my success. She was
supportive. I never forgot that she was there before it all
started. She would definitely receive the benefits of being a
star athlete's girlfriend; the good and eventually the bad. She
patiently dealt with the distance when I traveled for months at
a time every year.

She overlooked the rumors of me dating other women which
I made sure I tried to keep to a minimum. It was the eventual
proof of such behavior that would be something that she
eventually couldn't ignore.

Yet, before all of that, we were happy overall as much as
two young teens in love turning into young adults could be.
Because she was still in school, and working a decent job, she
couldn't travel with me on a permanent basis. She didn't travel
to see me until my second year, but we kept in contact every
evening on the phone where we grew closer. She would come
to see me at least once a year, after that, wherever I was.

My parents, Theresa and I at the Gatorade
Player of the Year ceremony...

I would come home at the end of each season, with gifts for
both her and my mom, and we spent the winters enjoying each
other company until it was time to go back to spring training to
begin the season.

For a long time, we didn't have too much drama. I kept
anything that didn't serve Theresa away from us. I am
protective and loyal in that way. Over the years, however,
things would change. As far as other women, she was not
stupid. My arrogance and growing disrespect let her know that
I wasn't as committed as I should have been. This is where I
insert the labeling of myself as an "asshole" a few times. I was
just that.

The evidence of one of my indiscretions came when a young
lady that I entertained one day out of town decided to send
Theresa pictures of our rendezvous. I still don't know how she
got Theresa's address, but she did, and those pictures hurt her.
Theresa stuck with me through that time and many more.
Truthfully, she probably took more crap from me than she
should have. Our age and circumstances didn't allow for our
relationship to grow as it possibly could have, and I take the
blame for that.

Eventually, my son Jeffrey would be born, and that would
solidify a life- long relationship between us. We would
eventually end because she would grow tired of me and what I
would now call my "bullshit." She was right to move on. I
always thought we'd get back together eventually, but her next
pregnancy and eventual marriage to her next beau stopped all
of that.

I would go on to date, and even love another woman, and
have another child eventually. I figured I’d be just fine, but at
that time, when Theresa left, it pushed me into depression.
Depression was something that would creep in and out of my
life throughout my entire baseball career.