Inspired By History
Inside your grandfather’s attic, you found an unlocked cedar chest, full of memories gone by: some faded photos of unfamiliar faces, several letters from your grandmother, and newspaper clippings of baseball box scores. These were his most prized possessions; worthy of rafter-height storage and eagerly awaiting your discovery, just like buried pirate’s treasure.
You dig deeper inside. You find a musty old mitt. Below that, his tobacco pouch and pipe. You find a few baseballs, including one with part of the cover hanging loose from busted stitching. Then you discover, wrapped in butcher paper like fine china, a woolen cardigan bearing your family name on the tag. This is the sweater that kept your grandfather warm between innings.
How cold must those April mornings have been; perched on the bench in the dugout awaiting your turn at bat! Where are we playing today? Is this Ebbets? Crosley? The Polo Grounds? They all feel the same to you as you try to focus on the game. With your hands in both pockets, while your fellow comrades take their turn at the plate, you study the pitcher, perfecting your timing. Because you’re up soon.
Strike three. There will be no at-bat this inning. It’s time to take the field. And it’s time for you to head back downstairs. You’re not supposed to be playing in the attic.
