I went to my church softball team’s annual pool party the other night. Myers Park United Methodist, for some reason, doesn’t field a team, so our family’s church is kind enough to let me pitch for them. Most of our time on the field is spent catching and hitting, so there aren’t many opportunities to engage in thoughtful conversation. The pool party is dominated by laughing at our attempts to catch and hit, so that’s not typically the place for deep reflection either.

But for several moments at the edge of the water on a warm summer’s night, this was different.

Before we attacked the fried chicken, one dad told me that he’s been going to some of the big summer movies with his son, who’s closing in on 10 years old. Star Trek was cool, the dad reported. So was the new Transformers, he said, even if the cost of their IMAX tickets was as out-of-this-world as the flick. I could see the light in the father’s eyes as he talked. The brightness wasn’t coming from the movies. It was coming from the fact that his son was there with him, eating popcorn in the seat next to his.

After the fried chicken, I took a seat poolside beside a teammate. He’s missed a lot of our games this summer, so I asked whether his job was keeping him away from the softball field. No, he said, it’s their little boy. There was the kids’ program on the final night of Vacation Bible School, graduation from karate school and a few other events involving his son, who’s five. He said he knows there will come a day when his son won’t be so eager to hang out with him, so he’s decided not to miss a moment now for anything.

A few feet away, another father overheard that last comment. His kids, he told us, have already gotten to the age where having dad around isn’t as cool as it used to be. You could see the faint hurt in the father’s eyes at the passing of the days when the son yearned to be at his side. This isn’t a gender thing. It stings when a father’s daughter reach that age. Surely it stings for moms facing the reality of children growing up.

As we finished the night with banana pudding, it was left to the old guy in the group – me – to offer hope for the ride home.

I remember the days when my son wanted to do it all with me, I told the guys.

And I remember the days when he grew old enough to ditch his dad and begin to make his own friends and his own way in life.

But the story doesn’t end there, I promised them.

They grow up to become a friend, someone who comes back to you to share a beer, a conversation and your heart. Someone whose presence by your side completes the cycle of fathers and sons, taking you back to the summer nights when they were four years old and you wouldn’t dare miss a moment with them even if meant missing a church softball game.