Tuesday, July 29, 2008
Baseball forms the backdrop of many of my first memories. I remember, when I was three years old, Tim signing up to play pinto baseball. His team was the Perris Pony Baseball, Pinto Kansas Royals. I remember wanting to play terribly bad, but I had wait a whole year, (one must realize that a year at this point was 1/3 of the time I had lived previously and it seemed like an eternity) till I would be on the Perris Pony Baseball, Tee Ball (Shetland), California Angels, (It was before they where the Anaheim Angels and long before they were the Los Angeles Angels of Anaheim) with Jonathan Peaslee and Danny Buchanan. We had the hats with the C and the A on them. At this point, however, I had a year of waiting to do. I was sitting on the white couch with the greenish pinstripes, in the living room of our house(we hadn't been in the parsonage a year at this point), I begged my Dad to let me play, I pleaded, I knew I was good enough, it was stupid that I had to wait a year when i was perfectly able now. He said something about life not being fair and that I would have to wait my turn. Like all of my early memories I am not sure if this really happened or if I only want it to have happened. (The picture above is of Caleb not me.)
I also remember from the time I was 3 til I was 8 or 10 begging my Dad to play catch with me. I think I would go to his office in the church with two gloves, his and mine, waiting impatiently for him to get off the phone, probably playing with the small red bycicle model he had or making my voice sound like a chipmunk with his tape recorder, to see if he would play. The older I got the less interested in catch I became.
This past semester I started playing a lot of catch again. Just about every sunny afternoon either Curtis, Miller, or Jumpshot would walk into my room with their gloves on wanting to play. We would go out to the Kerwood lawn and throw the ball around maybe get some root beer in the DC afterwards. In my opinion there is no better way to avoid homework.