Oh, They’re Still at Bat. [Part One]
Batter Up! “Firsts” aren’t the trickiest.
Writing pre- and post-Mother’s Day, celebrating and missing Moms of every ‘definition’ *and all the “okays” therein), I keep writing re Dads.
Mine, mostly — seen in Kodachrome slideshows of warm memories of cold Openings at old Comiskey.
Mom sending us off bundled in layers, buckling under blankets and binoculars, bearing two Thermoses. Sweet homemade cocoa for me; strong black coffee for Dad.
Trundling ramps to left field’s upper deck, we climbed — pawing and pausing at railings, Dad snorting steam like mounted Swiss Guards climbing the dome in Rome.
Dad? Cheering. Sneering at one-handed catches. Commandeering the entire upper deck. Who cared about the sight line to home the first game of a year? Dad.
Better than the Sox playing for just us? ‘Just Me’ time with my Dad. Still.
Last week’s reverie reminding “I’m here!” had me seeing another Dad through a lens of black and White Sox.
Love IS — both sides of Heaven!™
Dream BIG! Stand SMALL? Medium.™
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#AmWriting, Teaching, Preaching-as-Hoping…sometimes in 140-ish Words. Of course I write Medium! ;)
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