Forty-Five years is a long time. . .but sometimes, not long enough.
July 2, 1969.
45 years ago to the day.
The Kid was 13…he still had about a month to his 14th Birthday.
His grandparents rented a Summer camp and it was the holiday weekend. There were lots of families, guests, relatives, cookouts, snipe hunting, hide-and-seeking, fishing, swimming and softball.
The Big Softball game.
The Staff (the older folks)
VS
The Stuff (the kids and everybody else).
He bought the Kid his first ball and showed him how to use it
He bought the Kid his first glove and showed him how to use it.
He bought the Kid his first bat and showed him how to use it.
The Kid was up to bat and HE was pitching.
The first pitch was way to high.
The Kid laughed and taunted him.
The second pitch was outside.
The Kid laughed and taunted him.
The third pitch was perfect. It was like a huge Beach ball coming towards him. He saw every seam of THAT Softball. He saw every stitch–all 88 of them.
The Kid hit the ball harder than anything he’s ever hit.
It was solid and it rocketed off his bat–fast–straight up the middle and hit HIM in the side. . . .
Ruptured Spleen. . .Surgery. . .Cancer found. . .ICU. . .Coma. . .Unresponsive. . .Dead.
A siren was never heard the same way again.
The Kid always thought that every one, every single shrill siren he heard, was coming after him…for The Murder.
There was no Dr Phil back in 1969. No Adolescent Psychologists. No Bereavement Counselors. Thank God, No Judge Judy. There was no real talking about “Issues.”
IT. . .
just stayed there.
The Kid remembers just a few days before his 14th Birthday, one night after dinner, there was a knock on the aluminum door.
The Kid was petrified to answer it while everyone else was in the dining room. He hadn’t heard the siren, they must have turned it off to surprise him so he wouldn’t run away. That’s what the Kid thought as soon as he saw the figure of a man silhouetted in the doorway.
The Kid, for the first time in his nearly 14 years of age was actually glad it was the Minister of the Church his parents made him go to each week.
The Kid doesn’t remember what Rev. Dozier said that night.
The Kid was shocked that he drove over 30 miles, over the State line from Pennsylvania to West Virginia to come and BE…to come and BE…to Come and BE…TO Come and BE…TO COME AND BE. . .
. . .with a grieving family and a Scared, a very Scared Kid.
July 2, 1969.
Forty-five years is a long time ago. . .but sometimes not all that long ago.
A Foul…a very FOUL BALL was hit.
Something much more powerful was Caught…and in 45 years…it’s never been fumbled, jumbled, or dropped.
THAT’S made all the difference in the not-so-little KID and more. . .
The Kid’s been able to do the same for others–
S H O W I N G
UP
Will Do THAT. . .
again and again and again….
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