I grew up in St. Paul, in an era quite different from today. Baseball was America’s No. 1 sport, and most kids couldn’t wait to get out of the house. We stayed inside only when grounded; it was punishment.

On Oxford Playground, a half-block from my front door on Carroll Avenue, my friends and I spent hours playing sports — baseball in summer, football in the fall, skating in the winter. And indoors we played basketball and ping pong and lifted weights. Under coaches including Bob Carter, Mack Burch, and most important Bill Peterson, we learned baseball.

I was born in 1951, and there was a lot less competition for kids’ interests; we played sports and games in groups, as a community. We listened to and learned from our elders.

It was here in St. Paul that I learned to be a friend and a teammate, to play fair and play hard — learned, really, to be the player who made 12 major league All-Star Games and was, in 2001, elected to the National Baseball Hall of Fame.

So, as the 2014 MLB All-Star Game returns to my hometown for the third time, I find myself reflecting on those days.

BEGINNINGS

Little League Baseball had just been invented in Williamsport, Pa., so when I started playing baseball at 8 years old, our leagues were called Pee-Wees, Midgets and Juniors. After that, you moved on to American Legion ball. But we played more than that. Like I said, it was a different era.

Every day, two, three, five of us would go outside and find an open lot, or bounce a ball off the front steps, play off the back wall of a church, or create our own rules for baseball games in an alley. We gave them names like “Strike Out,” “Tag Up” and “Home Run Derby.”

I don’t know if kids today would know how to grab a small group of friends and create an unsupervised game and have some fun — “fun” being the operative word. Forget for a moment the isolation of video games and television; I’m talking about kids who play sports. Now, so much learning is done only at practice and training sessions, nothing on their own — not even a game of catch. By the time some young players reach their teens, they’re burned out.

I never did. By the age of 12, I knew I wanted to be a professional baseball player. I didn’t know how it would happen because there was no one that I knew, or anyone from St. Paul, who had preceded me. I knew only one other black athlete who even played sports at the University of Minnesota — LeRoy Gardner.

But the skills and lessons I learned in St. Paul were the foundation of a career I could barely imagine as a youth — in part because in many ways I was just having fun. What did I learn? A lot, and when it comes to baseball, I found these were most important:

One, know the fundamentals and rules of the game. Baseball isn’t an easy game, and it’s more complicated than it initially appears; if you don’t know how to field a grounder, or which base to throw to, you’re in trouble.

Two, always hustle and communicate on the field. You’re part of a team; never forget that.

Three, don’t make excuses — because no one cares or wants to hear them.

My advice to parents and coaches is to not project a child’s skills or role; you just never know what he or she will grow into. I played third base, shortstop, outfield, pitcher and a little first base. Speed, strength, size, reflexes and desire all play into the finished product.

My personal objectives were to show my arm strength and hit the ball harder than I ever did before. But who knew how I would physically grow? A lot of hard work and practice prepared me.

Under Bill Peterson, we became St. Paul city, district and state champs. Under Attucks Brooks, we won an American Legion title. I was All-City at Central High School, and turned down an offer to pitch for the Baltimore Orioles, who drafted me late, only to play baseball and basketball at the U.

Four years later, after stiff competition on the diamond and the court at the U, I was drafted fourth overall by the San Diego Padres and went directly to the big leagues. Forget the hype associated with being a top draft pick; I cut my hair, listened to coaches and veterans, arrived early, worked hard, kept my mouth closed and learned a lot.

ALL-STAR

Four years into my career, I had figured out enough, and experimented enough, to become an all-star, elected to the National League team for the 1977 All-Star Game at Yankee Stadium.

Willie Mays was the NL team captain; Joe DiMaggio was the AL’s team captain. Members of Cincinnati’s Big Red Machine were there, and I was greeted by Pittsburgh’s Lumber Company. During the pregame infield practice — remember those days? — the outfielders showed off their arms from right field. There was me, Dave Parker, Ellis Valentine and Reggie Smith.

There was a lot of praise from fans and players, and to this day, I insist I won the most. In any case, we stole the show pregame, and I went 2 for 2 with two RBIs after replacing Greg Luzinski in left field.

Back when the American and National leagues had separate presidents, we didn’t need extra motivation to win the All-Star Game. It was about bragging rights, not home-field advantage in the World Series.

That’s just one of the ways the All-Star Game has changed since my first midsummer classic. Back then it was one game on a Tuesday night. Now it’s a three-day corporate event with celebrities, sideshows and start-to-finish television coverage. To raise the stakes, Commissioner Bud Selig decided — prior to the 2003 game — the winning league will get home-field advantage in the World Series.

But at its center there is still the game and its rare collection of talent. Once I had joined that select coterie of players, there was no turning back. Any doubt that I could play with the best was erased, and I meant to be back every year. For the next 11 seasons, I was.

I hit well in the midsummer classic. My seven doubles are still a record (nine players are tied for second with three) and my 13 hits (in 36 at-bats) are tied for fifth all time with some guys named Hank Aaron, Cal Ripken Jr., Brooks Robinson and Billy Herman.

The kid from St. Paul was now well on his way.

Don’t get me wrong, though — it wasn’t easy. It took three major changes in my hitting approach to have the career I did. Without those, I’m a different footnote in MLB history. My advice? Don’t be afraid to listen and experiment. Plus, if you don’t make technical adjustments, the opposition will figure out your weaknesses. So, don’t just say, “I’ll do it my way because that’s what got me here.” Be careful, because that might not keep you there. If you have a weakness, the opposition will find it and exploit it until you are finished; they will be in control. Heed my words.

As I played in more All-Star Games, I thought of ways to get closer to the fans and incorporate them into the fun.

My second appearance was in my home park in San Diego, and the Winfield Foundation held a party for all the families at the Master Host Hotel in Mission Valley. We provided food, music, entertainment — and autographs from about 10 all-stars — and future years included Commissioner Bowie Kuhn and even umpires who all graciously attended.

I had earlier asked the Padres to open the gates and let people in to watch the all-stars practice, and they obliged — at no charge! Can you imagine that happening today? Not so easily.

Anyway, we partied, the Padres opened the practice and we hit baseballs that jumped out of the park (astonishing the AL players who had just ended their practice). Suddenly, the stage was set for the All-Star Game’s future — the weeklong FanFest, the charitable giving in the host community and the Home Run Derby. I honestly didn’t envision any of this; then again, Major League Baseball was perhaps bringing in one-eighth the revenue it brings in today (more than $8 billion in 2013).

HONING MY SKILLS

Five years into my career, at age 25, I finally learned to hit .300 and drive in 100 runs. Once I achieved these private performance goals, and held a pretty good contract for that time, I knew what it took to get back to the All-Star Game. I worked hard, extremely hard, to maintain and improve these standards, and not relinquish my hold on becoming one of the better players in my sport.

Between 1978 and 1988, over 11 seasons, I averaged a .293 batting average and 104 RBIs, with career-highs of .340 in 1984 with the Yankees, and a National League-high 118 RBIs with the Padres in 1979.

By then I was learning that baseball is a game, a science and a business. I was into cross-training, used videotape as a teacher, and made sure I took time to rest my body in the offseason. I explored relaxation techniques and continued to incorporate new physical and mental techniques into my game. As I did this, there were fewer fluctuations in performance and I stayed on the field, averaging 147 games a season between 1974 and 1993.

Never knowing how long my career might last, or how long I’d have these God-given talents, I wanted to play as much as I could. Those who begged out of challenges, it seemed, weren’t around very long.

Along the way, there were incidents that told me I was worthy of the big leagues, most coming when I had a bat in my hands. My first hit was a smash off the third baseman’s glove; he threw high to first and I slid safely in headfirst. Yes, my first hit came while doing something I don’t recommend!

In my first series, late June 1973 against the Houston Astros, a runner thought he doubled down the left-field line. But I cut it off and threw a strike to second base; the runner was so surprised he didn’t even slide and was tagged out easily. A big moment came when I homered off my idol and a future hall of famer, Bob Gibson, whose photo was pinned on my wall in college.

I tell people it took me 10 years to learn everything I needed to know about how to play my game, to the point where I didn’t need a coach to correct me. I imitated or took something from about a dozen players, from the size and model of their bat, to plate coverage, to the way they used their legs and extended their swings. It also was important to know early the kind of player I wanted to be. I wanted to be an RBI guy first (they’re important), hit for average second (they can’t get rid of you) and then hit home runs (they used to say a home-run hitter drives a Cadillac). I knew that reaching this level is one thing; staying there is another.

SUPPORT

I created the Winfield Foundation early in my career because of what others had done for me. So once I became a pro athlete with a little money, we started with a scholarship program called the Winfield Awards that is still active today in St. Paul. My nonprofit foundation provided sports, health and education opportunities, then blossomed to provide pavilions at the ballpark, health-and-wellness programs, substance-abuse-prevention programs, All-Star Game festivals and holiday parties.

I feel I thrived when I had that positive interaction with the public, especially young kids. I recognized that my thinking and actions came largely from my family, city and the state of Minnesota. The more I traveled the country, and the world, I realized that not all cities have the same culture of giving as my hometown.

Many of my athlete friends have asked me how I went about developing my foundation, and I soon realized that it started here. The philanthropic creativity and effort I shared with about a dozen athletes in many sports showed me that I was an early adopter in charitable giving. It remains one of the things of which I’m most proud.

I love the game of baseball. It has given me so much — an education, a career and the opportunity to travel the world and meet interesting people. Baseball has helped mold me into who I am today. It taught me so many lessons, from something as simple as the importance of being on time to the complex challenges of teamwork.

My mother, Arline Winfield, had no car and little money, but she found a way to attend all of the games my brother and I played. After every lengthy conversation, she would say to me, “Give it 110 percent, and I love you.” How could I go wrong with that support, with the lessons I learned and the guidance of so many mentors?

The youngster from St. Paul, Minnesota, had an all-star and Hall of Fame career in baseball, one he could barely imagine as a youth, and I hope I can pass what I’ve learned on to the next generation.

Dave Winfield is special adviser to Major League Baseball Players Association Executive Director Tony Clark. He is a 12-time major league all-star and a member of the National Baseball, University of Minnesota and Central High School halls of fame. He has written several books and articles on baseball, and his “Ask Dave” column ran in the Pioneer Press from 1993-94.