THE GOLDEN GLOVE

The Golden Glove, Jamestown, NC

I recently got up the ambition to clear out all the stuff that had settled into the garage loft 25 years ago.  You gotta believe that if you haven’t needed it for 25 years it just might not be of use any more.  As I was cautiously removing stuff for a critical decision of keep, give away or trash, I came across my old Little League baseball mitt that was still encasing one of my practice balls.  Both the mitt and the baseball had unmistakable signs that they had been “rode hard and put away wet”!  The baseball had multiple scuffs and grass stains along with the original price inked in at $2.22.  The mitt’s leather which I religiously oiled to keep it supple was well worn and the inside was even more distressed.

Since my main priority was to pull a Marie Kondo and release as much stuff in my possession as possible, I started walking the mitt to the trash tote at the curb.  The trucks would be arriving soon to embrace the totes lined in the street and whisk it away to the local landfill for recycling.  I raised the lid and slowly thought about all the good times we had enjoyed in those innocent times of my heartland youth.

In the course of a lifetime, we’ve all had thousands upon thousands of experiences in our daily lives. The vast majority are uneventful and mundane. They pass without notice almost immediately.  As we age, they pass with even more immediacy.  However, there are those milestone events in our lives that will stay with us forever. Somehow, our memory cells keep these on a short leash and we can recall them at a moment’s notice. 

For some reason, one of the early milestone memories for me occurred when I was probably around the age of ten.  I got good enough to finally make the All-Star game one season as a right fielder. The wild card for that game, however, was that it was played under the lights at night. I didn’t have a lot of practice catching balls at night.  

Right fielders don’t get a lot of action in a ball game. I had been moving around the outfield looking for four leaf clovers. But then the game got interesting as the next batter singled to left field. The next batter up was a pretty big kid, so we all shifted and backed up. It only took a couple of pitches before he found a pitch he liked and he hit a long fly ball to right field! I quickly maneuvered over about a dozen steps to my right and backed up another few steps with my glove over my right shoulder in anticipation of a throw to the infield.

The ball sailed up into the night sky and suddenly I was blinded by the overhead flood lights! I totally lost sight of the baseball that was hurling towards me. I had about two seconds to react. I could duck to avoid getting a concussion or I could trust my instincts and stay put. So, without much time to debate my choices, I held my ground and no one was more surprised than me when the ball smacked into my baseball glove. I quickly noticed the runner at first base running to second knowing that the skinny kid in right field couldn’t possibly make that catch. So, I fired a strike into first base for a double play. The stands erupted (as much as our parents could muster) and I trotted into our dugout amid shouts of “nice play!”

There’s been a lot written and discussed about the dreams we human beings have in life. Many of those dreams of course get translated into prayers. And much has been written about unanswered dreams and prayers because the answer can be no, or maybe, but let’s wait and see what happens. In the movie Field of Dreams, the old country doctor gets another opportunity to turn back the clock and fulfill his earlier dream of spending his life as a professional baseball player instead of a health care professional. 

As a young man, my dad had been asked to try out for the St. Louis Cardinals farm club. The scout hit him scorching line drives and grounders for a couple of hours with none getting past him. He then offered my dad the chance to leave home and join the baseball club. But times were tough, and he passed on the dream, stayed at home and helped the family.

That major decision in my father’s life quite probably resulted in our family’s creation. And mine. It’s good to have goals and dreams in life, but when life throws you a curve ball, it just might not be strike three. It might be ball four and a pass to begin a new path around the bases that leads to a new home. Only later after his too early death did I begin to also understand the time and patience he spent with me to teach me the baseball skills he had acquired. I didn’t become a professional baseball player either, but I learned that we’ve got to work hard at something to be really good at it, sportsmanship, a love for athletics, how to be a team player, developing lasting friendships with teammates, the thrill of competition, how to be a good winner as well as a good loser, and the love of a father to impart his dream to his child after he had chosen another path so that the dream remains alive. 

 And like the movie, the best times involved the simple act of playing catch in the backyard. It’s a very human act of “I give to you and you give back” connectedness, many times discussing something about life and many times in serene silence, with just the sound of the rawhide ball hitting the leather glove. The final act of redemption in the movie unfortunately doesn’t happen all too often in real life. The prodigal son gets a second chance to say, “Hey dad, you wanna have a catch”? And his dad replies, “I’d like that”.

I looked down at the well-worn leather glove I was about to discard and noticed the faint wording on the label.  It read “Geo. A. Reach Co. Inc., Philadelphia, PA.”  Here I was standing in the middle of North Carolina holding my old worn baseball mitt from central Kansas that was made in the area where my son-in-law was born and raised near Valley Forge.  He and my daughter are now raising my grandson and I have a chance for a game of catch now that they are living in the area.  So, I walked back into the garage and placed my “golden glove” in a place of honor in my man cave.  Destiny called.

 

FATHERS, MOTHERS, SONS, DAUGHTERS AND BASEBALL

Cubs Wrigley Field, Chicago, IL

Little League Baseball, Emporia, KS

We’ll celebrate our parents individually in the next thirty days, along with the beginning of baseball season.  The game of baseball has long been celebrated as America’s pastime, but as with all things, there are many other activities that occupy the present generation.  My father directly had a hand (and an arm) in teaching me the game, but in retrospect my mother drove me to practices and games when my father worked random shifts on the Santa Fe railroad.  One of them never missed a game.

As a young man playing baseball, my father was scouted by the St. Louis Cardinals and he was offered a low paying position at shortstop on their farm club.  He decided to abandon the dream and stay at home to help the family.  That major decision in my father’s life quite probably resulted in our family’s creation.  I was emotionally struck by the parallel life-changing decisions of my dad and Archie “Doc” Graham, played by Bert Lancaster in his final film, Field of Dreams.  One critic’s consensus of the movie is “sentimental, but in the best way, a mix of fairy tale, baseball and family togetherness.”  Archie gives up his baseball dream for a medical career, helping countless others including children. 

Ray Kinsella is a struggling Iowa corn farmer who hears a voice saying “If you build it, he will come.”  Both Ray’s father and mine seemed to live vicariously through their sons on the baseball field, and both sons sought other paths.  It was only later in life that they understood that connection they had severed in their search for independence, which is the end goal of all good parenting.  And it was only at the end of the movie that Ray realized the voice was referring to his deceased father.

Ray’s wife Annie supported his crazy dream to plow up part of their life-supporting corn field to build a baseball diamond in the middle of nowhere.  As the banned ghost players of the Chicago Black Sox emerged from the corn field onto the baseball diamond, they asked “Is this heaven?”  Ray simply replied “No, it’s Iowa.”  He later concluded that it was heaven, a place where there is no more fear, tears or shaming, but a place where families can enjoy togetherness.  I can still remember watching The Game of the Week at Wrigley Field on a black and white television with my grandfather as Dizzy Dean made the calls.

And like the movie Field of Dreams, some of the best times involved the simple act of playing catch in the backyard. It’s a very human act of I-give-to-you and you-give-back connectedness, many times discussing something about life and many times in serene silence, with just the sound of the rawhide ball hitting the leather glove. The final act of redemption in the movie unfortunately doesn’t happen all too often in real life. The prodigal son gets a second chance to say, “Hey dad, you wanna have a catch?” And his dad replies, “I’d like that.”

Ray and I didn’t have sons but we passed along our love for the game to our daughters.  And a game of catch between a parent and child is priceless.  I know she and my son-in-law are passing the torch of athletic games on to my grandson and we’ll all soon enjoy a Cubs baseball game together in Chicago!

REFLECTIONS ON FATHER’S DAY

Fading Memory, California Beach

The photograph of my father and me shelling in California on a Pacific Ocean beach has become about as faded as my memories of him. It’s been said that most of humanity is only remembered for about two generations until there is no consciousness left to retain their memory. Fortunately, on the eve of Father’s Day, my consciousness still retains a few dim memories.

I only vaguely remember family meals, as my father was an engineer on the railroad and worked a variety of shifts due to the rigid seniority system. He never outlived the system, since he experienced a relatively early death, partially due to that system which never enabled him to live a normal life of sleeping and waking. But I do remember good times fishing, hunting, and participating in his favorite sport, baseball.

As a young man playing baseball, my father was scouted by the St. Louis Cardinals and offered a low paying position at shortstop on their farm club. He decided to abandon the dream and stay at home to help the family. That major decision in my father’s life quite probably resulted in our family’s creation. It’s good to have goals and dreams in life, but when life throws you a curve ball, it just might not be strike three. It could be ball four and a pass to begin a new path around the bases that leads to a new home. I didn’t become a professional baseball player either, but I learned that we’ve got to work hard at something to be good at it, sportsmanship, how to be a team player, developing lasting friendships with teammates, the thrill of competition, how to be a good winner as well as a good loser, and the love of a father to impart his dream to his child so that the dream remains alive.

He died as I was only beginning to transition to adulthood in college. I remember a conversation about part-time college students that were hired to supplement the summer wheat harvest and vacations. He mentioned that many of them partied and then slept on the job to recover. When I challenged their right to do this, he just smiled and noted that many of them were superior’s sons and he would be the one in trouble. That was a rude introduction to the real world. During a blustery Kansas winter snow storm, I went to the back door late at night where my mother was looking outside and inquired about my father. She mentioned that he was outside putting chains on the rear tires of our car so he could get to work. I remarked that no one should have to go outside on a night like this, but she just smiled and suggested I get bundled up and go outside to help him. When I went outside and suggested that he call in sick so he could stay home out of the storm, he just smiled and said someone had to work so our family could live—another rude introduction to the real world.

And like the movie Field of Dreams, some of the best times growing up involved the simple act of playing catch in the backyard. It’s a very human act of I-give-to-you and you-give-back connectedness, many times discussing something about life and many times in serene silence, with just the sound of the rawhide ball hitting the leather glove. The final act of redemption in the movie unfortunately doesn’t happen all too often in real life. The prodigal son gets a second chance to say, “Hey dad, you wanna have a catch”? And his dad replies, “I’d like that”.

As I became a father, my daughter and I played catch (although I quickly learned to slow it down a bit) and now there’s always the dream of playing catch with that future Hall-of-Famer, my new grandson.

WINDOW REFLECTIONS

Window Reflections, Chicago, IL
Shattered Window, Greensboro, NC

A TEACHABLE MOMENT

As I was leisurely driving home this morning a shattered, broken window caught my eye. It’s hard to say exactly how that happened. It may have been deliberate vandalism or there may have simply been some sort of an accident here recently. But the image resurrected an incident that had been stored away in my memory ever since my childhood back in central Kansas. Upon reflection, the memory was one of those infamous “teachable moments” that my father had fortunately seized upon to weave responsibility into the fabric of my life.

We were in the backyard of our home with the expanse of an alley separating our yard from our neighbors along with some privacy shrubs and a fence. As I vaguely recall, my dad was warming me up for a scheduled little league baseball game that evening. So he was pitching me some rather smoking fast balls to work on my developing strike out percentage. Needless to say, the neighbor’s property across the alley was in no real jeopardy.

Then the unthinkable happened. As my dad smoked another pitch destined to wiz past me, I actually made a good hand-eye coordinated swing and abruptly returned the baseball over his head and over the fence! The ball was probably the best hit of my life up to that juncture of my dubious baseball career and it promptly crashed through the neighbor’s back window on the first hop. I do believe my initial inclination upon hearing the shattering sound of breaking glass was to just get the heck out of there, while my dad just stood there in shocked amazement. Then he turned to me and calmly stated that we needed to walk over to the neighbors and confess. That seemed a bit too impetuous at the time, but he put his arm around my shoulder and we strode over and admitted our involvement. Then my dad offered to measure the windowpane and replace it for the neighbor. Our neighbor turned out to be quite understanding and the window was replaced in just a couple of hours.

That was a good lesson for a young boy who was faced with possibly his first “hit and run” felony charge and one of those priceless teachable moments growing up. You can never go wrong doing the right thing. That especially applies when something shatters your life and you need to step up to admit your role in a bad situation and work to fix it.

And God will work alongside us to bring good out of any bad situation. For example, our neighbor gave my baseball back to me.

ROYAL TRUE GRIT

Slip Slidin' Away, Internet Domain

Growing up in central Kansas with a father that had a passion and talent for the game of baseball imbued me with a life-long loyalty for Kansas City baseball. Unfortunately, my dad suffered through the long seasons of the KC Athletics, but I had the pleasure of being in Royals Stadium (now The K) during the George Brett glory days and the 1985 World Series. Brett is still with the Royals organization and his gritty style of play is stamped all over these young players I just watched win the 2015 World Series. My wife and I had the pleasure of meeting George and his wife when they hosted a Las Vegas charity event at their home. His three silver bats on display in the study represented offensive excellence in three separate decades.

This Royals baseball team whose motto is “keep the line moving!”, puts the never in “never say die”. They not only trailed in all five games of the World Series but were still behind into the eighth inning in three games which they won. That has never happened in 110 years of World Series history. They seldom strike out because they feed on two strike counts and love fast balls. They keep the petal to the metal on the base paths. Eric Hosmer personified this grit as he made a dash for home plate on a routine throw to first base to tie the final game. They live the NY Yogism that “it ain’t over till it’s over!”

In retrospect, I couldn’t help but think about the 1969 movie True Grit where John Wayne received his first and only Oscar as a tough old U.S.Marshal who had a reputation for getting the job done. Grit is plain old rough granules of stone and folks associate it with a strength of mind and the conviction to see things through in the face of strong adversity. Persistence and practice with a purpose are great equalizers over superior talent. The Royals have a team attitude and connection with overflowing self-confidence. Add in a lot of talent and you have a recipe that’s becoming more legendary than KC BBQ!

And the irony of George Brett’s quote at the beginning of the ninth inning of the last game wasn’t lost on me. As Lorenzo Cain gritted through seven pitches to lead off with a walk against the Met’s ace pitcher Harvey, Brett was overheard to say, “I’ve seen this movie before.”

PLAYING CATCH WITH DAD

California Dreaming with Dad, Pacific Ocean, CA

FATHER'S DAY, 2015

As a young man playing baseball, my father was scouted by the St. Louis Cardinals and offered a low paying position at shortstop on their farm club. He decided to abandon the dream and stay at home to help the family. That major decision in my father’s life quite probably resulted in our family’s creation. It’s good to have goals and dreams in life, but when life throws you a curve ball, it just might not be strike three. It could be ball four and a pass to begin a new path around the bases that leads to a new home. Only later after his too early death did I begin to also understand the time and patience he spent to teach me the baseball skills he had acquired. I didn’t become a professional baseball player either, but I learned that we’ve got to work hard at something to be really good at it, sportsmanship, a love for athletics, how to be a team player, developing lasting friendships with teammates, the thrill of competition, how to be a good winner as well as a good loser, and the love of a father to impart his passion to his child so that the dream remains alive.

And like the movie Field of Dreams, some of the best times involved the simple act of playing catch in the backyard. It’s a very human act of I-give-to-you and you-give-back connectedness, many times discussing something about life and many times in serene silence, with just the sound of the rawhide ball hitting the leather glove. The final act of redemption in the movie unfortunately doesn’t happen all too often in real life. The prodigal son gets a second chance to say, “Hey dad, you wanna have a catch”? And his dad replies, “I’d like that”.

The good news is that I’m confident they play baseball in heaven.

SLOW DOWN

Fast Ball, Wrigley Field, IL

I recently received an e-mail containing a poem written by a terminally ill twelve year old girl. It was titled Slow Dance and included the request to slow down and not dance too fast. This young girl was forced to mature beyond her years as time was short and she knew the music wouldn’t last. She characterized a day filled with hurry and worry as an unopened gift thrown away. Her final admonition not to dance too fast was that life is not a race, so take it slower and hear the music before the song is over.

The poem reminded me of a baseball I saw in an impressive trophy case years ago in Kansas City. My wife and I had been asked to represent our company at a charity Las Vegas party. It was generously being held at the home of the professional baseball player I most admired at the time. He had lost a good friend to ALS and the event was being held to raise donations for a cure. My baseball possessed father had me playing baseball from the time I could hold a bat without dropping it on my feet. So I was transfixed and blown away when we discovered that we were free to wander around the home which included a workout room and awards den. Most of the rooms were a testament to a long and storied sports career. However, there was one trophy case of signed baseballs that immediately caught my attention. No, it wasn’t the signed Babe Ruth or Lou Gehrig baseballs, as impressive as they were for me. After all, ALS has been called Lou Gehrig’s disease since it stopped short the career of this giant of the game all too soon.

There was a signed baseball in one glassed case that was addressed to our gracious host for the evening and it said, “You’d better slow down. I hear you’re getting to be a lot like me”. It was obviously given to our host during his early single years of fame and fortune before he settled down with a wonderful wife and family. And it was signed by another baseball legend that died after a contentious liver transplant. He'd been quoted as saying, “If I had known I was going to live this long, I would have taken better care of myself”. The man’s father had died far too early in life and Mickey Mantle apparently assumed his was the same fate, so he’d lived fast and never slowed down before it was too late. But I believe that baseball did make an impression on our host and it definitely made an impression on me.

Today is a good day to tell someone close to you that you love them.
Today is a good day to hug someone so they know you care.
Today is the first day of the rest of your life.
Today is a good day to be still and know your God.