Have you ever smelled freshly cut grass and the scent of brown dirt mingling while under the summer sun? Have you ever held a baseball in your hand and brought it to your nose? Grass, dirt, sweat, leather, and love come together and form an unforgettable and beautiful, earthy delight.
Sometimes I think that in my former life -- if there were such a thing -- I was a baseball player. What else could explain why as a child I'd return from school to pick up my mitt and run out into our courtyard barefoot to throw a baseball, tennis ball or racquetball against the wall? In my mind, I created a world that was so far removed from the fantasy land that most girls usually build in their minds. Mine was in imaginary baseball stadiums and with me involved in heroic feats that could only include baseball heroes like Babe Ruth, Nolan Ryan, and Kirk Gibson.
And then there was my dad -- I remember when I played as a child, he'd watch me with pride. And I was more than thrilled to see him in the stands during my games. He was an amazing player himself -- he'd play catch with me or pitch balls to me until I got the basic skills down. Then he'd encourage me to push myself beyond what most people thought little girls were capable. I'll never forget his long limbs working in unison to deliver the ball in my direction. His beautiful fingers and right hand would flutter in the air gracefully after he released it.
"Good Jenny!" he'd congratulate me when I did something right. And "No, Jenny," he'd say when I did something wrong. "You need to keep your head down when you swing the bat, Jenny."
I savored each and every moment as though it were my last. This was one of the only places in the world that we could connect and work toward a goal together.
Things got tough within our family and dad wasn't around as much as I would have liked between ages eight and ten. I wasn't sure exactly when he'd show up in my world. I'd go to my baseball games...dressed in my uniform, hat and all. I'd look for him -- search the stands, look toward the parking lot, look behind the backstop. I'd hope and I'd pray. Each minute that he didn't show up, my heart bled a bit more. Most times a few innings into my game, I'd see him walk from the parking lot with his unforgettable, long stride and I'd breathe a sigh of relief. Then I'd settle in to play my heart out.
Just for him.
He died unexpectedly when I had just turned 10 -- June 26, 1986 -- a day I will never forget. Baseball continued to be where I excelled. I'd pour myself into my imaginary baseball field in the front yard of our new condo. I'd use every opportunity that summer and for summers to come to bury myself in my field of dreams. There I could be OK -- with the sun shining brightly and the smell of the grass offering comfort.
A couple years after my dad died I joined another baseball league -- again one of two or three girls in the league. One evening under the bright lights that attracted bugs of all shapes and sizes. I found myself looking in the distance for my dad -- and I realized he wasn't there -- that he was never going to show up. I began to hyperventilate and panic. Had to run off the field and ask my mom to go to the restroom with me. She held me and tried with everything she had to heal my hurts. I cried.
All too many people understand what it feels like when you finally realize that someone you love will never walk in the door, or call you on the phone, or sit in the bleachers to cheer you on.
I remember the day I watched Field of Dreams for the first time. Tears sprang from my eyes live a river at the pivotal moment when Kevin Costner's character had the opportunity to meet his deceased father one summer evening on the baseball field Costner's character Ray had carved out of a cornfield.He shakes the hand of his deceased father (who has appeared from the past and is once again a young man) and then as he watches his father walk away, he emotionally asks him if he'd play catch. His father replies, "I'd like that." And they toss the ball back and forth, without saying a word to one another, until the twilight turns into night. (see movie clip below)
For those of us who love baseball, we understand. To toss a ball - a simple leather ball, with red seams and a mix of grass, earth, sweat, and tears - unites two hearts in unspeakable ways.
My dad wasn't a man of verbal communication -- but he was a man of action. And me, well I try to say things with eloquence and tact -- but no matter how hard I try to speak and explain, I many times can't get the words out right & I realize that I may be more like him than I know.
(picture: Me and Dad -- long before my baseball days---->)
