Sandlot

Remember the days when kids would gather in a backyard or small park and play ball or games all day long?  Leave right after breakfast or chores and be gone until dinner?

I know I was like that.   When school was still in, I would get home, do homework, and be gone.  Home by 5:45 for dinner.  Clean up and out the door again to be home when the street lights came on.  Summer days were the same, right after chores I was gone.  I don't even recall coming home for lunch.  Remember those days?  We had Atari at some point, but we were not allowed to sit in front of a TV all day playing it.  Come to think of it, we only had one TV!

 

Before us it was our parents.  My Dad, who is in his mid 70's, grew up on the southern tip of the city.  Close by his home was a small park nestled in between a few streets and lots of houses, Butler Park.  It was his home away from home during the summer.  His buddies and other neighborhood kids would be there day in and day out playing.  Baseball seemed to be the game.  If one kid had to leave for family matters another stepped in without missing a beat.  From dawn to dusk.  Even as they got older they still showed up there to play.  No complaints just a good pick up game that had no ending inning, it just kept going until there weren't enough kids left to play. 

 

The group of guys haven't lost touch.  Every year right around Father's Day they meet at the park to play ball.  I'd gone to watch a few times, and I took Steve to watch too.  He was young then, maybe 15 years ago.  He was amazed that his grandfather could hit the ball and run.   None of the guys ran quickly then, but there was a time!   Years have gone by and some of the guys aren't around to make it anymore, but those still here go to park.  Some bring their gloves, balls, and probably even bats, but they don't play.  I'm not even sure if they play catch.  They sit and talk and reminisce about the good 'ole days.  Crack jokes, have some hot dogs or something of the sort and then call it a day usually by stopping off at one of the guys house for a few more hours of laughter.

 

This year a local paper stopped and did a little story on the bunch from south of the city.  The picture was in the paper and a few comments from some of the guys.  My Dad got the colored picture and emailed it to me last night.  With his blessing I am posting it here with a few of my additions.  The original had a few bends and marks in it and I took a few minutes to clean it up.  One mark was right through my Dad's face so the 'fix' isn't the best, he looks grumpy.  I, of course, teased him about it, since his nickname is 'grump.'  My nephew could not say Grandpa when he was little and it came out grump.  Well 25 years later and he is still called that or Papa Pal. 

 

The guys in the picture won't mean much to you, but to me it means the world.  For those interested, my Dad is sitting at the table in bright red.