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My dad loved baseball.

I must’ve been 8, when he took me to Memorial Stadium in Baltimore, walked me to the dugout and introduced me to one of his old acquaintances, a guy whose name was burned into my baseball glove.

Brooks Robinson .

I got thick-tongued. All I could do was gawk, clutch my glove — the one with his name in it — and stumble to my seat, underneath the arm of my dad, feeling all goofy about meeting my favorite baseball card in person.

And that’s how it really started. My dad, me and baseball. We’d catch games on television, games in the stands, and often between the crack of peanut shells, we’d retell that Brooks moment many times.

No matter your age, you keep those moments under glass forever. You cherish them, laugh at them and bring them out to appreciate the ties that bind between father and son, parent and child.

Eleven days ago , I made my own moment with my 10-year-old son, Will. It was like my baseball moment, my Brooks moment. But this time, it was our moment with this guy, The Boss.

Bruce Springsteen.

Like many from my generation, Bruce was a big part of my personal soundtrack — from my teenage days along the South Carolina coast, to my wedding day in a Salisbury chapel, to the day my son was born.

I had recited his lyrics like scripture. Ever since I was 16.

Now, 30 years later, I carried Will to the Triad’s biggest arena to see his first rock show. And I wanted his first rock show to be Bruce, a musician he had heard since his early mornings in a car seat.

That night, Will talked nonstop.

“Wow, this is like a football game!”

“Is it going to get really dark?”

“Which way will he come out?”

“That’s a lot of speakers.”

“Is it ever going to start?”

That was 8:13 p.m. Four minutes later, Bruce strode onstage to an arena full of 18,431 fans, the 10th biggest crowd in Greensboro Coliseum’s 50-year history , to the roar of “BRUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUCE.”

“Dad,” Will asked, “What are they saying?”

Meg Weckworth knew. She stood on the floor, beside her dad, for yet another show.

“We call it 'our daddydaughter time,’” says Meg, a senior at Bishop McGuinness Catholic High School in Kernersville. “He’s involved with my brother in sports. But Springsteen is our thing, and I think that’s pretty cool. We both get to enjoy something we love together.”

Meg saw her first Bruce show when she was 12. The date: Nov. 16, 2002 , Greensboro Coliseum. She was on the front row, and during “Waitin’ on a Sunny Day,” Bruce grabbed Meg’s hand and sang a few inches from her face.

After the show, Bruce gave her his set list and one of his guitar picks. She still keeps them in a shadow box, in her bedroom.
Soon after seeing Bruce, Meg started playing guitar. Her first song? Bruce’s “Cadillac Ranch.” She began singing, performing, music teacher assisting and taking guitar at school. She got it. The power of music.

Next fall, Meg will start her freshman year at UNCG and major in music education. Thanks to Bruce and her dad.

Meg has seen Bruce five more times. And every time, her dad was right there.

Like May 2, two Saturdays ago.

“My generation wants to share with their children what rock ’n’ roll is really about, which is to inspire, but also to inform and motivate people for the good and for the love of their fellow man,” says Bob Weckworth, 47 , a Greensboro attorney. “That’s what rock was all about, right?’’

And what about Will? Well, he liked his first rock show. He said it was loud. And cool. And fun. Especially during Bruce’s sing-along with the crowd, which they could probably hear from Beef Burger.

But that is what rock is all about. A joyous, in-your-face reverie. And with Bruce, it’s always something to share, something as timeless and American as baseball in the spring.

Fathers and sons. Fathers and daughters. Ties that bind.

Jeri Rowe is a staff columnist at the News & Record. Contact Jeri at 373-7374 or jeri.rowe@news-record.com