A Trigger Moment

I suppose it could be my age and the realization that the sand-in-the-hourglass is disproportionately located at the bottom or then it could simply be a longing for relationships gone by; your guess is as good as mine. Nonetheless, my emotions often times are just beneath the surface and some of the strangest things can trigger those feelings. Let me explain. Monday afternoon, my wife and I headed for St. Louis to use one of four-Cardinals' games previously purchased tickets.. We arrived early enough to have diner at Mike Shannon's Restaurant before heading to the stadium to check out the 'Birds and Diamondbacks.

Our seats are located in the second row down the left field foul line about twenty yards from the third baseman; great seats where you best pay attention to line drives. Seated at my right were two young boys who came 'ready' with baseball gloves, Cardinals' jerseys and caps; the older boy was perhaps 11 and his younger cousin likely nine years-old. The elder lad, of course had greater concentration powers on the unfolding of the game while the 9-year old was constantly tracking the cotton-candy vendor and asking his uncle when he could make the purchase.

It was in the sixth inning when a foul ball ricocheted off the wall directly in front of our seats. The ball was retrieved by a field security guard who walked towards our seats and motioned to the 11-year boy at my right and with a wink of his eye tossed to ball into the boy's outstretched baseball mitt. The look on the kid's face was a mix of disbelief, excitement and uncontrolled smiling. He kept trading glances at the 'prize' and others around him as if to seek ownership confirmation from somebody--anybody! At one split second his eyes met mine and I immediately felt a choking in my throat and warm tears swell in these old eyes. I had an instant flash back to the year 1950. My Dad took me to old Sportsman Park in North St. Louis where the Cardinals and the St. Louis Browns both played their home games. For those who may not remember, the 'Browns' were an American League team and would be sold to ownership in Baltimore...and now you know the rest of that story; Orioles!

On that game day, sixty-three years ago, Dad and I arrived at the ballpark early enough to 'watch batting practice.' Unnoticed by me while I was gawking at the sights, my Dad bolted from his seat and ran towards a foul ball, which he garnered and brought to me. He called out my name and flipped the ball at me and I caught it in my 'Mart Marion' (Mr. Shortstop) glove.

 Through blurry warm eyes, I saw my Father's smiling face two nights ago at Busch Stadium and I felt that 'little boy inside;' it was special once AGAIN!