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Aaron Calafato reflects on the enduring power of Field of Dreams, weaving together baseball, memory, and the quiet bond between fathers and sons. As listener stories echo a universal longing for one more moment, this nostalgic 7 Minute Story explores why some scenes never leave us.
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The Team:
Story created & performed by: Aaron Calafato
Senior Audio Engineer: Ken Wendt
Additional vocals: Cori Calafato
Art: Pete Whitehead
Original Theme Music: thomas j. duke
Additional Soundscape Design: Isaac Gehring
TRANSCRIPT
Hey Dad, Wanna Have a Catch? (A Field of Dreams Story)
A few years ago on this feed, I told a story about baseball—about Field of Dreams. More specifically, my own connection to Cleveland baseball… and really, something bigger:
Fathers and sons.
Now, about a month ago, I started a new 7 Minute Stories–inspired series of reels, exclusive to Instagram and Facebook. If you want to follow along, you can find the links in the description.
We call the series Storyteller of the Week.
And in one of those posts, I shared a scene from the movie Field of Dreams—one of my favorites.
Like several of those reels… it started to take off.
And what followed were some really moving, meaningful responses. Here are just a few:
“Today marks 31 years since my dad passed. He was a huge baseball fan. I cherish every moment with him. And this movie reminds us we’re not promised tomorrow… so tell them today.”
Another:
“My dad called me one night when he was sick. He said he wanted to have a catch. He passed away not too long after that. Now every time I see that scene… I feel like he’s still there, giving me a tap on the shoulder.”
And lastly:
“Whether they’re alive or in the hereafter… for those of us who had a good relationship with our father—or wanted one—we all want one more chance to play catch with our dad.”
There’s something about that scene.
It sticks with people.
And now—it’s baseball season again. The start of spring. I’m feeling nostalgic.
So here’s a story for you… about baseball, fathers and sons… and Field of Dreams.
Enjoy.
The night before we went to see the Cleveland Indians play baseball, my dad said:
“You have to watch this movie called Field of Dreams.”
“I know you probably watched it when you were a kid,” he said, “but now you’re coming of age.”
I was almost 15 years old.
“And there’s a meaning in it,” he said, “that as you grow up and become a man… you’re going to understand.”
So I did.
I watched the movie—and I loved it.
I didn’t know exactly what he was talking about… but what I did know was how fired up I was that the next day, just me and my dad… we were going to see the Cleveland Indians play baseball on a school night.
Now, the 1995 Cleveland Indians were a powerhouse. Incredible team. They were winning. They had just moved into a new stadium.
Everything was lined up for an unforgettable night.
And I remember it like it was yesterday.
Finding my glove.
Putting my baseball cap inside it so I could catch foul balls.
Getting in the car with my dad as he drove us north on Interstate 71—about 20 minutes—to Cleveland.
We parked a couple blocks away.
My dad handed over the money… and we started walking, becoming part of this living crowd.
It felt like a pilgrimage.
We made our way through the downtown streets, toward this beautiful stadium. You could see the lights… the manicured grass… the seats filling up.
It was going to be a sold-out night.
You could hear the sounds—kids laughing, families talking, the energy building.
I remember standing in line with my dad, and he said:
“Don’t forget your ticket stub. Always keep it. So you remember this night.”
We walked in. Found our seats.
It felt like a stadium for the common people—because there were no bad seats.
We were in the bleachers.
From the very beginning—from the national anthem to the first inning—my dad walked me through the experience.
He told me about balls and strikes.
How to steal.
When to swing.
Pitching strategy.
He even explained what a balk was. I had no idea.
He told me what it was like for him… coming downtown as a kid… watching these same games.
And now here we were.
I had my program in my hands—Omar Vizquel, Carlos Baerga, Kenny Lofton, Albert Belle, Paul Sorrento, Dennis Martínez, Orel Hershiser…
I knew them all.
I’d look at their profiles every time they came up to bat.
The innings passed.
You could hear it all—Cracker Jack, peanuts, hot dogs… the beer vendor echoing through the stands.
And the game itself—it was back and forth.
Incredible.
We got to the seventh inning stretch. We stood up together.
“Take me out to the ballgame…”
The whole stadium singing.
I remember goosebumps on my arms.
“And it’s one, two, three strikes you’re out at the old ballgame…”
As the game went on, it stayed tied.
Extra innings.
Then more extra innings.
It was the 13th inning.
My dad looked at me and said, “Maybe we should go home.”
“Please, Dad,” I said. “Let’s stay.”
Bottom of the 13th.
Bases loaded.
Kenny Lofton at the plate.
Not a power hitter.
Down 0–2.
The pitcher throws one right over the plate.
Crack.
The ball launches out of the stadium.
A grand slam.
Walk-off win.
The place explodes.
People are jumping, hugging—peanuts and popcorn flying everywhere.
My dad’s high-fiving strangers.
I turn to him.
We high-five.
And then I hug my dad.
We walk out with the rest of the crowd… back to the car.
Driving home.
As we leave the city and head down the highway, I lean my head against the window.
Streetlights passing.
And then—
It hits me.
Like lightning.
That speech from Field of Dreams… the one my dad had me watch the night before.
James Earl Jones.
Terrence Mann.
And suddenly… I understood it.
Completely.
“People will come, Ray…”
“They’ll come to Iowa for reasons they can’t even fathom…”
“They’ll arrive as innocent as children… longing for the past…”
“They’ll pay for it—not because they have to—but because they have the money… and lack the peace…”
“They’ll sit in the bleachers… where they once sat as children…”
“And the memories… will be so thick… they’ll have to brush them away from their faces…”
“The one constant through all the years, Ray… has been baseball.”
“It reminds us… of all that once was good… and could be good again.”
“Oh, people will come, Ray…
People will most definitely come.”
And just as that last line went through my head…
We pulled into my driveway.
The garage light lit everything up.
I didn’t want to go to sleep.
I still had my glove in my hand.
I got out of the car.
My dad got out too.
He started to walk toward the house.
And something just came to me.
I looked at him and said—
“Hey Dad… you want to have a catch?”