More on treasures in the attic

My quest for a manageable amount of "stuff" in my attic is motivated by my desire to save my amazing children from the real trauma of having to throw away so much of "Dad's stuff."  I'm very conscious of my mission here.

Among the unexpected experiences and emotions of my mining the attic, I've discovered lots of correspondence from across the years. 

And in that connection, I've noted a very discernable pattern. 

Early in my "career" I tended to save "positive" feedback from my constituents--mainly members of the churches that I served.  I've discovered so many letters and notes of encouragement from those early days.  Many bring tears to my eyes and surprises to the memory capacity of my heart and soul. 

Later in my work life--have I ever had a job?--I simply threw away the positive notes. 

As a matter of fact, I threw away almost all of the feedback.  I read it all, positive and negative. During this period,  I always tossed the positive.  Some of the negative remains.  I'm not sure what all this means, but it seems to me that as I've grown older, I've also come to benefit from clarity and from criticism. 

One thing I know for sure, really caring about people matters. 

And, it's not a bad way to build a life as over against a job or career.  I've never been perfect, far from it, but I have cared.

Sunday Thoughts: Baseball

Just the thought of Central Dallas Ministries' Night at the Rangers Ballpark makes me smile. We enjoyed that evening a few weekends ago. It was a fun night with a good turn out from across our team. As always, I enjoyed it immensely!

The club is not playing well. . .yet. I remain optimistic. . . against any semblance of rational thought!

Actually, it is the game that keeps me coming back, not the outcomes of individual games. But, I've said this before.

Baseball is a game of childhood memories.

It is a game of right angles and leisurely conversations among friends, as well as perfect strangers.

Baseball, for me at least, is a metaphor for community life. Team work, surprise, order, strategy, problem solving, overcoming weaknesses, celebrating victories and all-out, slam-against-the-wall effort.

Baseball is the long play. It is the slow down. Baseball allows equally for deep, private thought and/or mindless daydreaming and the banter of silly chatter. Baseball can involve the concentration necessary to fill in a scorecard. Or, it can be a glancing experience, when the people around you are actually why you came to the park!

Baseball is about kids. . .and crazy adults with gloves, just certain that the next ball hit or fouled away will be theirs for the catching!

Baseball is salted peanuts, hot dogs, cotton candy, the 7th inning stretch and "Take me out to the ballgame" and, if you're really lucky, extra innings!

Baseball makes the Texas heat worth it.

I love this game.

It gives me hope, no matter how bad our team is hitting!

Baseball can be cruel, though.

As in a couple of weeks ago when my son-in-law called me from Yankee Stadium during a game against the Rangers just to rub it in that I wasn't there. Where's the justice?

[FYI--I took the photo with my Treo while sitting up in the "cheap seats"--not a bad vantage point to watch a game. But then, there's not a bad seat in this house in my view.]



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Play Ball!. . .At last!!! and thanks number 42

Baseball is back. . .finally!

Though the weather hasn't been totally cooperative (Cleveland had a hard time getting their home opener done thanks to a spring blizzard!), the boys are playing ball again all over the country.

Call me over the edge if you like, but the return of baseball every year provides me a reason to hope.

If you love the game, you'll understand.

If you don't, at this moment you're thinking I'm nuts and there is absolutely nothing I can say to explain or justify my feelings.

Maybe it is about my childhood. Maybe it is connected to the memories. I must admit I can still smell my old glove, the fresh grass and the ball on my hands. I can feel the heat. I recall the sudden excitement of a hot grounder headed my way or the crack of the ball against the bat.

Baseball's back! I can read the box scores again over my Wheaties! I ask you now, could breakfast be any better than that?

It doesn't even matter who wins, not ultimately.

The joy is in the game, and not just the season. That's what makes baseball so unique, at least to people like me. Every game stands on its own. Doesn't matter who is playing. Sure, I yell for the Rangers every time they take the field. But the point is the game. The amazing plays, the strategy, the pitching. The game is about each game and the team.

I confess: I grew up on the New York Yankees. Mantle, Maris, Berra, Ford, Richardson, Boyer, Turley. . .the list goes on and on. I still find myself pulling for the pinstripes, I can't help myself.

So, here's how I see the season ending in the late fall:

American League

East: New York Yankees
Central: Detroit Tigers
West: Los Angeles Angels
Wild Card: Boston Red Sox

National League

East: New York Mets
Central: St. Louis Cardinals
West: Los Angeles Dodgers
Wild Card: Chicago Cubs

World Series

Yankees versus Dodgers. . .Yankees in six!

Hope to see ya at the ballpark!

_______________________

On a more serious note, today is Jackie Robinson Day for Major League Baseball! In every major league park in the nation today fans and players will remember number 42.

On April 15, 1947, Robinson broke the color line for baseball when he took the field for the Brooklyn Dodgers in their game against the Boston Braves. The Dodgers won the game, played at Ebbets Field, 5-3.



The white controlled press paid little attention to this first, historic game.


During that first season, Robinson endured lots of insults, foul language and racially motivated hatred. The Dodgers' first series in Philadelphia against the Phillies proved the worst in terms of racial insults from both fans and players.


It was during that game that Dodgers' second baseman, Eddie Stanky, a native of Alabama, came to Robinson's defense in a tirade that likely couldn't be published, even today!

Branch Rickey, the Dodgers' General Manager who signed Robinson, later said that it was this series against the Phillies that brought the Dodgers together as a team. They came within one game of winning the World Series that year.


Robinson scored a run in that first game to help the Dodgers on to a win. He wrote a column for The Pittsburgh Courier afterwards in which he said, "Whenever I hear my wife read fairy tales to my little boy, I'll listen. I know now that dreams do come true" ( "Breaking the Truth Barrier," Stuart Miller, The New York Times, Saturday, April 14, 2007, A27).


Thank you, Jackie Robinson! The number 42 means a lot to baseball and to the United States today.