About 7:15 P.M. last evening, my son, Steve telephoned to tell me that he had moments before read on 'facebook' that baseball great, Stan Musial died. He said, "I'll check it out and call you back." Three minutes later he telephoned again and said, "It's true Dad, your childhood hero is dead."
There are some moments that cause you to realize how your emotions, although invisible, are much like a skinned knee; it gets banged up, bleeds and then begins to form a scab as part of the healing process. My ninety-three year old Mother's death was just four weeks ago. Even though she had lived a long and wonderful life and even though I knew she was ready to 'go,' I have fought many moments of tears the past few weeks just wishing that I could hear her voice and laughter. My emotional bruise and cuts from Mom's death had begun forming that 'scab.' However, the second telephone call from my son was as if I had the scab knocked loose by the confirmation that, indeed, Stan "The Man' Musial was dead at ninety-two.
Let's be honest if we will; there is a little boy inside every grown man. The little-boy 'lives' amongst childhood games, secret hiding places and names of loving pets. That 'inside' little boy also reminds the grown-up guy of that 'history' special unto us as it intertwines with others in this shared journey. The Musial connection was not simply about a skilled professional baseball idol from my youth but his ongoing career was that conduit between a father and son who shared a love for a backyard game of catch and hundreds of Cardinals' baseball games at Sportsmans' Park, St. Louis.
Before I began typing this remembrance blog, I looked down at my desk to noticed two photos that are positioned side-by-side under the glass top; one is a photo of my Father and the other is a photo of Musial. I recall seated next to my Dad at the old Park at Grand and Dodier Avenues on May 4, 1954, when Dad and I were deliriously excited to watch Stan 'The Man' hit five (5) home runs in a doubleheader against the 'Giants.' Years later, (1963) Dad and I watched Stan play his final major league game against the Cincinnati 'Reds.' He got two hits that day off of Reds' pitcher Jim Maloney.
My telephone rang several more times last night. Granddaughter, Loren called to tell me she was sorry that Musial had died because she knew that he was special in my youth. My daughter Pamela was at a high school basketball game and her son, Caleb sent a text-message to her with the news of Musial's passing. My daughter immediately telephoned to ask if I knew. She purchased a Musial autographed jersey a few years ago and said to me before last night's conversation end, "Well my jersey value just increased." I thought to myself, yes, indeed and as soon as these emotional cuts form a new scab, I shall have a memory value increase.
I tell you this with all honesty, that little boy of many years past would at some time during every Cardinals' night game he attended, closed his eyes and whispered a prayer thanking God for the baseball moment with Dad and he wished it would never end. I am sure the 'little' boy inside will awaken the old man at times in the coming weeks and revisit precious memories.
Hey Stan, thanks for the many heroic fetes, the gentleman's blueprint and sharing a journey with a Father and Son.
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