Well, my birthday will soon be approaching. Another reminder that my body is just a wee bit past it's prime. As the folk song says, "The old gray mare just ain't what it used to be." About 30 years ago I began to be aware that things were beginning to change for me too.
I was playing baseball in a church slow pitch league and I hit a mighty blow. The ball took off like a rocket. Yes, I had hit a home run ball. It was a classic swing and the bat connected with all my weight behind it. It was driven with such force that it sailed over the left fielders head and rolled into the trees. I sprinted to first base and turned towards second base. I saw the left fielder turn and run into the trees after the ball. About the time I rounded second base, I saw him bending down and picking up the ball.
But, I knew I was in trouble when I got to second base. My legs began to quiver, my breath got shorter, and it dawned on me that my body was not going to get me safely to home plate, it was giving up on me. I finally reached third base and just stood there, my breath coming in deep wheezes. The realization came to me that my mighty home run blast had been betrayed by my aging body, which could now only squeeze a triple out of what used to be a home run swing. I stood there, huffing and puffing, on third base. I remembered my father also coming to this same point in his life. I saw it happen to Mickey Mantle, Willie Mays, and others. The legs give out first, then the eyesight. Finally, it is the hair and then perhaps, the teeth.
I kept the gloves, the uniform, the bats, and the shoes for a while. You never know when someone might call and say, "Hey, lets start a team up and go play some ball." But, as the months and the years trickled by, things began to disappear. First, I gave a glove to a teenager who began to play ball. Then, the uniform didn't fit one day when I tried it on. The pounds began to add up and I couldn't even get the pants on anymore. It seemed appropriate to put it out for the VFW truck to pick up. The shoes held out longer. Every boy that has played ball knows the feeling of wearing cleats on a baseball diamond and in the dugout. They were in a gym bag in various cars over the years, but one day I moved the bag from its resting place, and it began falling apart. I took the shoes out and they were old and dusty - had some cobwebs in them where some animal had made a home. I put them in the trash container out in the alley.
I kept the aluminum bats around the house. You never know when a burglar might break in and attack you. I might need one of those bats for self defense. I paid $10 when I bought them and now they are running $140 or $150 in the stores. Besides, I had sanded them down and painted them really stunning metallic colors. I could still remember getting some great hits with them.
As the years passed by, every now and then I would run across those baseball bats. When no one was looking I would pick one up and stand in the living room taking some practice swings, thinking back in time. But then the bats went into different closets, and now I can't remember where they are, think I sold them at a yard sale for $1 each. If a burglar shows up in our seniors complex, I will just have to yell and assume my karate stance.
The only thing that I kept was one glove that I oiled and wrapped in a plastic bag. I'd get it out every year or so and pound my fist into it a few times and smell the leather. I finally gave it to a young boy in Venezuela. If someone calls me up to play baseball tomorrow, I am now wise enough to know that doctor visits can be very expensive. My memories of baseball will include being a 10 year old kid playing on a real field in a neighborhood park. And then a 20 or 30 year old young man playing in the prime of life. But finally, I'll remember being 40 years old and standing on third base, bent over and wheezing, after hitting a home run ball.
Life is like that, isn't it? So much promise, and then one day we are looking backward at what might have been.
But, senior citizens can still dream can't we – and life always holds the promise of another day – and another chance at hitting a home run.
I was playing baseball in a church slow pitch league and I hit a mighty blow. The ball took off like a rocket. Yes, I had hit a home run ball. It was a classic swing and the bat connected with all my weight behind it. It was driven with such force that it sailed over the left fielders head and rolled into the trees. I sprinted to first base and turned towards second base. I saw the left fielder turn and run into the trees after the ball. About the time I rounded second base, I saw him bending down and picking up the ball.
But, I knew I was in trouble when I got to second base. My legs began to quiver, my breath got shorter, and it dawned on me that my body was not going to get me safely to home plate, it was giving up on me. I finally reached third base and just stood there, my breath coming in deep wheezes. The realization came to me that my mighty home run blast had been betrayed by my aging body, which could now only squeeze a triple out of what used to be a home run swing. I stood there, huffing and puffing, on third base. I remembered my father also coming to this same point in his life. I saw it happen to Mickey Mantle, Willie Mays, and others. The legs give out first, then the eyesight. Finally, it is the hair and then perhaps, the teeth.
I kept the gloves, the uniform, the bats, and the shoes for a while. You never know when someone might call and say, "Hey, lets start a team up and go play some ball." But, as the months and the years trickled by, things began to disappear. First, I gave a glove to a teenager who began to play ball. Then, the uniform didn't fit one day when I tried it on. The pounds began to add up and I couldn't even get the pants on anymore. It seemed appropriate to put it out for the VFW truck to pick up. The shoes held out longer. Every boy that has played ball knows the feeling of wearing cleats on a baseball diamond and in the dugout. They were in a gym bag in various cars over the years, but one day I moved the bag from its resting place, and it began falling apart. I took the shoes out and they were old and dusty - had some cobwebs in them where some animal had made a home. I put them in the trash container out in the alley.
I kept the aluminum bats around the house. You never know when a burglar might break in and attack you. I might need one of those bats for self defense. I paid $10 when I bought them and now they are running $140 or $150 in the stores. Besides, I had sanded them down and painted them really stunning metallic colors. I could still remember getting some great hits with them.
As the years passed by, every now and then I would run across those baseball bats. When no one was looking I would pick one up and stand in the living room taking some practice swings, thinking back in time. But then the bats went into different closets, and now I can't remember where they are, think I sold them at a yard sale for $1 each. If a burglar shows up in our seniors complex, I will just have to yell and assume my karate stance.
The only thing that I kept was one glove that I oiled and wrapped in a plastic bag. I'd get it out every year or so and pound my fist into it a few times and smell the leather. I finally gave it to a young boy in Venezuela. If someone calls me up to play baseball tomorrow, I am now wise enough to know that doctor visits can be very expensive. My memories of baseball will include being a 10 year old kid playing on a real field in a neighborhood park. And then a 20 or 30 year old young man playing in the prime of life. But finally, I'll remember being 40 years old and standing on third base, bent over and wheezing, after hitting a home run ball.
Life is like that, isn't it? So much promise, and then one day we are looking backward at what might have been.
But, senior citizens can still dream can't we – and life always holds the promise of another day – and another chance at hitting a home run.
The writer of the Book of Ecclesiastes puts it this way: “Remember now your Creator in the days of your youth, before the difficult days come, and the years draw near when you say, "I have no pleasure in them. . . before the silver cord is loosed, or the golden bowl is broken, or the pitcher shattered at the fountain, or the wheel broken at the well. Then the dust will return to the earth as it was, and the spirit will return to God who gave it."
And, before you can't get safely home from third base anymore.
And, before you can't get safely home from third base anymore.
I have one of those gloves dad. I took it out last week to play ball with Micah in the backyard. It is still oiled, and has your name and number on it.
ReplyDelete