My eyes were open. Before me, the white lines shot bylike anti-aircraft artillery. The highway was dirty and wide. Our Caravan wasentering a city, and my father was screaming a tirade about the field and thegame.

Whoa, let's back up. My father is an authority on baseball history.Shortly after seeing the movie "Field of Dreams," he developed a hugeinterest in taking a road trip to Dyersville, Iowa, the setting of thefilm.

I slept during the drive to Chicago, and woke to the sight ofskyscrapers. To a seven-year-old, Chicago can be a scary place, like hell. Thedrive from Chicago to Dyersville, however, would be our ascent to heaven, andwhat I would learn about my father would stick with me for the rest of mylife.

All the way to Iowa, my dad told me about the players from the movie- the stories behind "Shoeless Joe" and the legacy of George Herman"Babe" Ruth. I could hear the growing excitement in his voice as weneared the farm with the ball field. He said, "Mack, you're gonna love this.When you stand on the field, you'll be standing where Kevin Costner and JamesEarl Jones were in the movie."

All the excitement suddenly hit meas we pulled into the parking lot. We arrived at night, and the floodlights casttheir glow, like angels on guard. The baselines were bands of ivory shining inthe light, and the grass shimmered like emerald stone.

The place musthave been thick with nostalgia for my father; I saw him looking at an old-timebaseball display with teary eyes, remembering his childhood. The corn stalksbehind center field chanted with the voices of ballplayers from long ago. Thesmell of the air burned my nostrils, and the lights of the big white house behindme glared in my eyes as I looked at my father. He put his arm around me, and weadmired the beautiful landscape.

It was then that I realized the purityof my father's love for me - he wanted to give me something to remember him by.Years from now, when I have my own children, I'll remember my father sharing hismemories and love of the game with me.