Caleb Jennings Breakey
Former Associate Reporter
MLB.com

NEW YORK — The Yankees had won and all the reporters were finishing interviews in the New York clubhouse. A couple of them thanked Mariano Rivera for his time, and a scattered few did the same around Jorge Posada. I fidgeted by number 2′s locker, hoping the Captain would arrive before I lost courage.

The clubhouse door closed and I knew I was the last reporter standing amid the lockers of legends. I prayed security wouldn’t shuffle me out. I had to talk to Derek Jeter face-to-face, human being-to-human being.

In hindsight, I don’t know what I was thinking.

When he finally came out of the trainer’s room, I froze. Without my professional facade, I suddenly felt like a credential-less nobody.

“How’s it going, buddy?” Jeter said with his never-changing calmness and matching demeanor.

A warm guilt ran through me. Just like all of my childhood friends, I had loved hating the Yankees. So naturally I hadn’t liked “pretty-boy” Jeter. How I wish I could take those thoughts back and replace them with honor and respect.

“Going well, thank you.” In spite of my rehearsed transition, it came out awkward. “I … just finished reading your book.”

“Oh yeah?”

“It meant a lot. I mean, it’s really good. Everything you said about chasing your dream and doing the right thing.”

“Thank you, man—really appreciate that,” Jeter said, sliding his arms into a collared shirt. “What’s your dream?”

His question caught me totally off guard. I had gone into the clubhouse wanting to thank him for encouraging me to chase my dreams. But I’d gotten so caught up in the thought of chasing that I never considered my dream. Now I felt naked standing there.

“To write words that make a difference,” I fumbled out.

He grabbed his jacket from his locker, and I immediately felt like I should go. He had places to go, people to see, a city to own. But … there was something about his eyes. He wasn’t telling me to go.

“Looks like your well on your way, buddy,” Jeter said. “Where you from?”

“Seattle.”

“You’re a long way from home then.” He bent to grab his shoes and laced up. Then he stood and added, “Dreams do that sometimes. That’s good. “

We shook hands and I thanked him.

“We’ll see you tomorrow, buddy.”

Four years later as Jeter collected his 3,000th hit—a homer—in style against Rays pitcher David Price, I remembered his words anew.

Dreams.

They are never easy.

They take us a long way from home sometimes—out of our comfort zone and into a world filled with as much resistance as opportunity.

And yet out dreams come the Martin Luther Kings of this world.

Out of dreams come the rebuilding and healing of the greatest city in America.

Out of dreams comes fruition that elevates moments into so much more than ticks of the clock. Moments like the third inning on Saturday as the Yankees faced the Rays.

When Jeter rounded first base, it was as if every fan and every player who’d ever donned pinstripes lifted him up, taking off the weight of his dream just long enough for him to levitate into something greater than a ballplayer.

A picture of a dream fulfilled.

A small-town shortstop from Kalamazoo, Michigan who became the face of the most storied franchise in baseball history.

All because…

He believed in what he did and who he was.

He never gave up or listened to those who said he couldn’t.

He pressed on humbly and fearlessly toward his vision, all the while taking the time to show a young writer that dreams are hard, and that “That’s good.”

I thank you, Derek Jeter, for the example you are.

For always playing the man even when people judged you wrongly.

For letting us be a part of your journey as you’ve chased this beautiful thing called a dream.

And for paying if forward.

I thank you 3,000 times, buddy.

Caleb Jennings Breakey is a former associate reporter for MLB.com. Catch more of his work and videos at www.calebbreakey.com.