Why Toronto Feels Like Home: José Berríos Gets Real About Parenting and Family Life

There are players who arrive in a city and treat it like a stopover, a place to pitch or hit until the next opportunity calls. And then there are players like José Berríos — men who cross a border, put on a new uniform, and somehow discover that this new place doesn’t just hold their career… it holds their heart.

When Berríos first landed in Toronto, the questions were obvious. Would he adjust to the pressure? Would he thrive in a new league, a new ballpark, a new culture? Would his family feel settled? But somewhere along the way — quietly, without grand announcements — Toronto stopped being a question mark and started becoming something closer to home.

Not because of the bright lights or the winning seasons.
But because of what the city gave him beyond the field.

Family.

Parenting.

A sense of belonging that every athlete hopes for but not every athlete finds.

Berríos has always carried himself like someone older than his years — steady, measured, thoughtful. Those qualities show up on the mound, of course, but they show up even more clearly when he talks about being a father. In interviews and conversations, there’s a softness to him whenever the topic turns to his kids. A kind of pride that doesn’t roar — it glows.

And living in Toronto, that glow only seems to have expanded.

He’s spoken before about early mornings in the city — kids bundled in jackets, streetcars rattling by, a coffee in one hand and a school drop-off waiting at the other end of the sidewalk. Those moments don’t make headlines, but they make memories. They’re the kind of small, grounding rituals that remind an athlete he’s more than the numbers on the back of a baseball card.

For Berríos, Toronto has become a place where baseball and fatherhood don’t battle for space — they coexist. The city’s rhythm blends with his family’s rhythm. Its diversity mirrors his own Puerto Rican roots. Its passion, its kindness, its way of lifting people up rather than pushing them out — all of it has woven seamlessly into his daily life.

And in quiet moments, when he’s watching his children sprint across a park near the waterfront or laughing over dinner in a restaurant tucked into a neighborhood far from the stadium lights, he realizes something: this place has wrapped itself around them.

That’s not always how it works.
Athletes move. Families adjust. Kids learn new languages, new streets, new schools. It’s a nomadic lifestyle — one that can swallow stability if you let it. But in Toronto, the Berríos family found not just a house, but a home. Not just a fanbase, but a community.

And the city has embraced them back.

When he pitches, the crowd cheers for more than a strikeout or a well-placed two-seamer. They cheer for the man who stands tall for his family, who works as hard off the field as he does on it, who carries himself with humility and gratitude. They cheer for someone who lives among them, not apart from them.

Parenting has a way of reshaping a person. It softens edges. It changes priorities. It turns the question from “What do I want?” to “Who do I want to be for them?” And when Berríos talks about Toronto — its culture, its families, its energy — you can tell he sees it through the eyes of a father, not just a pitcher.

Baseball gave him the opportunity.
Toronto gave him the space to grow within it.

Maybe that’s why his performances on the mound have felt different lately — calmer, more grounded, more deliberate. When a man knows where home is, everything else sharpens.

In the end, the story isn’t about innings pitched or strikeouts recorded. It’s about a player who found a place that let him be more than an athlete. A place that welcomed his wife, his children, his heritage, his hopes.

A place that allowed him to breathe.

So when José Berríos says Toronto feels like home, he’s not speaking like a ballplayer.
He’s speaking like a father.
And that tells you everything.