This picture was taken circa 1978. I was in my Khoury League uniform, posing for a picture in the back yard of my parents’ house at the time. The proverbial house I grew up in. I came across this relic of my youth a few days ago, and had I not been wearing my old uniform, I would have just passed this one by. But the uniform, and the strained expression on my face, made me pull this one aside for a scan and some commentary.
I loved playing baseball when I was a kid. I was never very good at it, and the coach of my team played me as little as possible. But I wouldn’t think of doing anything else in the summertime, either. To not play would have felt wrong, in some way.
My two daughters haven’t ever played baseball, unfortunately. They’ve played soccer over the years, and that sport has taken over the spot that baseball had for kids of my generation. I have to admit that I won’t miss soccer after this season ends, and I’ll never again have to give up a sunny afternoon to watch kids chasing a ball around.
My playing days are over–and have been for 30 years now–but the experience of actually playing baseball helped to cement my attachment to the game. And my kids, along with millions of others, won’t have that as they get older. I’m sure that they’ll still be happy, happier than I was, even, but something I would have liked to pass along to them wasn’t meant to be. At least they’ll be able to laugh at this old picture of me. That’s something, I suppose.