"Dad, Karin's just like Mom," Chipper replied.
Larry was speechless at Chipper's argument. The wedding was a year later.
"Chipper and his father are absolute clones," says Lynne. "They stand the same way, they walk the same, they field the same. Watching Chipper play shortstop in high school was like watching Larry play shortstop in college. They are both competitive—to a fault. When Chipper comes home and wants his father to throw him a little batting practice, the next thing you know, Larry's trying to strike him out and Chipper's trying to hit home runs. But that's what makes them so good at what they do."
Larry grew up in Vero Beach, Fla., where the Los Angeles Dodgers have conducted their spring training since 1948 and where his father was an Assembly of God minister. As a boy Larry used to dream at night about playing for the Dodgers and spend his days trying to avoid his father's wrath. His father was strict. Larry raised Chipper the same way. "I'd say once or twice a year, from the time Chipper was five or six until he was 13 or 14, I'd get out the belt," Larry says. "I gave the usual speech: 'This is going to hurt me a lot more than it's going to hurt you.' And Chipper would say, I won't do it again,' and I'd remember my father saying, 'If you let a child off once, it will be only harder the next time.' I think every now and then, pain is a powerful motivator. I firmly believe children will do what you demand of them, not what you ask of them. We've been very fortunate with Chipper. When people say, 'Chipper reminds me of you,' I couldn't be prouder."
The Joneses are old school. Larry is not saying his methods are right for everybody. What he's saying is that they worked for him and for his son, Larry Wayne (Chipper) Jones Jr., a budding star and a decent man.