José Berríos Talks Fatherhood, Raising Kids in Toronto

There’s something disarming about watching a professional athlete — a man who spends his life under bright lights, loud crowds, and crushing expectations — soften when the topic shifts to family. José Berríos has always been known for his precision, his poise, the way he can make a baseball dance on command. But when he talks about fatherhood, the edges of that competitive armor melt away, revealing something far more universal: a man trying to raise his children well, even while carrying the weight of a city’s hopes on his shoulders.

Ask him about pitching, and you’ll get detail. Ask him about Toronto, and you’ll get warmth.
But ask him about his kids, and suddenly you’re hearing a story instead of an answer.

Berríos likes to say he’s learned more from his children than they’ve learned from him. It sounds poetic, almost rehearsed, but the way he says it — with that half-smile that creases the corners of his eyes — you know he means it. Fatherhood has a way of reshaping a man, even one whose days are built around strict routines and regimented training. For Berríos, it’s a reminder that life continues beyond each pitch he throws.

Toronto, he says, has become an unexpected blessing in that journey.
It’s not just the ballpark, or the loyal fans, or the skyline that glows against Lake Ontario on summer nights. It’s the city itself — the safety, the diversity, the sense that families here grow not just upward, but outward. His kids have learned to love the parks, the winter festivals, the way people smile at them even when they don’t quite understand the accent yet.

There’s a tenderness in the way he describes Toronto winter mornings with his children bundled in layers, their boots thumping across the apartment floor as they beg him to take them outside. At first, he laughed at their enthusiasm — he had never been a winter guy. But he learned quickly that fatherhood means stepping into unfamiliar seasons simply because your kids want to make snow angels.

He talks about those small rituals:
Breakfast together before he heads to the ballpark.
Helping with school projects.
Reading bedtime stories on nights when he isn’t pitching.
Listening to little voices ask, “Daddy, did you win?” even when he didn’t.

It’s those moments, he admits, that anchor him. That make the hard days not just bearable, but meaningful. Baseball careers rise and fall, but childhood doesn’t wait for the postseason. So he savors every second.

And Toronto, he says, has given his family space to grow.
The fans treat his children like their own.
The city feels like a patchwork of cultures that remind him of home while teaching his kids something new every day.
The community has embraced them, and in return, he’s learned to see the city through his children’s eyes — a place full of adventure rather than obligation.

Of course, fatherhood isn’t easy when your job pulls you away for half the year. He misses birthdays, school plays, random Tuesdays that might’ve turned into good memories. Those absences sting. But they also fuel him — push him to work harder, focus deeper, compete stronger. Because when he returns home, he wants his kids to see a man who honored both his craft and his family.

He hopes they learn from his example, not his victories.
The discipline.
The resilience.
The humility.
The belief that dreams aren’t built in leaps, but in steady steps.

And maybe that’s why Toronto feels like the right chapter for him. It’s a place where he can be José Berríos the pitcher in the evenings… and José the father every morning.

In the end, he says, the cheers fade, the stat lines blur, and the career eventually quiets.
But the memories — skating for the first time on a Toronto rink, the kids waving from the stands, the laughter echoing through a condo overlooking the CN Tower — those stay.

Baseball brought him to Toronto.
Fatherhood is what makes him want to stay.