By: Charlie Rice-Miñoso
Congratulations, Dad. One month from now, baseball will finally recognize you with its highest honor. I know your induction would have meant a great deal to you, and it still does mean a great deal to our family, though it’s extremely bittersweet without you here to enjoy it.
From a humble ranch in El Perico, Cuba, to the National Baseball Hall of Fame, you truly lived the American Dream — “quintessentially,” as a presidential Southsider described when you passed. He also said that your story “embodies far more than a plaque ever could.”
And how true that is. You opened doors and broke barriers for countless Black and Latino athletes to follow, all while doing what you loved and fulfilling your lifelong dream of being a major league baseball player. What a fitting way to honor such a remarkable life lived in service to the sport you loved.
My brother, Orestes, described you as “the most dedicated ballplayer (he) had ever seen. (You) embodied America’s pastime, and the Chicago White Sox until (your) last breath.” And he would’ve known, as Orestes observed your career firsthand in Cuba, the United States, and especially when you played side-by-side together in the Mexican Professional Leagues. He was right, Dad. You devoted your life to baseball, to its fans, to the community and to the City of Chicago, all of which you loved immensely.
I know how proud you were to be Black, to be Cuban, to be an American, to play professionally for baseball’s greatest team — and to later serve as that organization’s ambassador as “Mr. White Sox.” And I know how very proud you would have been to be a Hall of Famer.
However, I really hope you know, and what’s most important, is that you were a Hall of Fame person, off the field and in the community.
Even when you saw the ugliest sides of people, you never let those negative experiences make you bitter. You were wise enough to know that people are imperfect and they didn’t know any better at the time, despite all of the prejudice, hatred, and bigotry you faced throughout your career. As both a Black man and a Cuban immigrant during the Civil Rights Era, you had to navigate your experience on multiple ends and still created a pathway for many to follow.
And, like you, Dad, I’ve never fit neatly into a specific box. And you saw how difficult growing up was for me. I certainly struggled as a multiracial gay man, often not feeling connected or identifying enough with Latino, Black, or gay culture, yet still encountering all of the challenges faced by each community. However, the language to accurately describe intersectionality didn’t exist when I was growing up, let alone during your playing years in the height of Jim Crow.
And I’ve previously shared how cautious I was toward your hesitation when I first came out to you and questioned if it was due to a lack of support or love. But when your reasoning — because you didn’t want the possibility of your child to face similar cruel mistreatment and prejudice that you experienced decades ago due to the color of your skin and your Cuban heritage — that’s when I knew you were a Hall of Fame dad.
“I didn’t come to America and go through (what I did) for my family to be treated how I was treated then. That’s not what America is about. I don’t want that for you.”
I can’t say enough what it means that you did the work to accept all of me, as well as my community. But we can’t take all the credit here, no matter if, at times, we were as thick as thieves. In addition to you, I was fortunate enough to have the support of Mom and my sisters to have additional conversations with you, when needed.
You always said: “People should love each other and respect each other; no matter our color, or where we come from. An individual’s character is what matters most.”
Thank you, Dad, for teaching me the importance of being true to myself and living authentically, no matter who told me I should change. That is the part of your legacy that resonates most to me.
While long overdue, we take comfort knowing your legacy is precisely where it belongs. I only wish you — as well as my brother, Orestes — were still with us to see when you are finally inducted into the National Baseball Hall of Fame.
-Charlie
A Letter To My Father was originally published in Inside the White Sox on Medium, where people are continuing the conversation by highlighting and responding to this story.