My Father's Day Letter to Dale ~ & Writing Assignment #2

I’m sorry I won’t be with you on Father’s Day this year Dale.  You were such a wonderful Dad to our boys. It occurs to me just now that you will be with my Dad and your Dad and all of our beloved Grandfathers up in heaven today.  Please tell them Happy Father’s Day and that I love them.  Are you able to do that?

Funny, my mind fluttered from "Dad's" to "Baseball" Seems kind of natural that they are linked together don't you think? Remember how I cried at the end of the movie “The Natural”; you know . . . the part where the father and son were playing catch in the golden wheat field?  The reason I cried was not because it had been a good story, which it had; and it wasn’t because of the way that you played catch with our boys, which you did; it was the memory of playing catch with my own Dad.  Just the two of us, back and forth and back and forth, hearing his stories and his laughter (his eyes actually twinkled when he laughed) and the feeling that we shared something very special.  Just the two of us.   I hated the mitt I used.  It was the only left handed mitt he could find in the whole town back then and it was a large red catcher’s mitt, much too big and much too stiff for my small hands but it was worth the price of a stinging palm from his fast ball to be able to share the time together.  Oh how Dad loved Baseball. During the clean up in Japan after the war, he and the other soldiers taught the Japanese boys how to play.

I was introduced to the inequality of women in sports in elementary school as my girlfriends and I would throw our stone marker onto the chalk drawn hopscotch squares and then hop and jump to the end and back and then we'd sit on the gray cement and play jacks; all the while I'd be looking longingly over my shoulder at the boys playing baseball on the grassy field by the giant oak trees.  Oh don’t get me wrong, we girls had fun playing double-dutch jump rope and cat’s cradle strings - but they just weren’t BASEBALL!

At home, Dad bought a ball for me to use on the garage door as a makeshift handball court. I practiced and practiced and soon the boys in the neighborhood wanted to play.  They kept coming back even though I could beat them soundly.  Dad installed a basketball hoop on the garage and more games ensued!  Then came a Tether-Ball installation in the driveway.  Life was good.  Dad complained (but with a proud sort of a chuckle) when he had to replace my worn out tennis shoes on a weekly basis.  That was long before brands like Nike appeared on the market.

Then it happened, one day the neighborhood boys asked, ”Do you want to play baseball at the Methodist church field down the street?”  Did I ever!  I grabbed my left handed mitt and down the street we went.  The church had long since been abandoned and the field was just dust and weeds but oh how I loved to play and I learned the finer points of the game from these guys.  I loved to bat and I could hit more home runs than any of them - in fact they finally made a rule that I couldn’t hit any more home runs because we kept losing the balls in the weeds.  Many times we would end up using tennis balls since we’d gone through the neighborhood supply of baseballs. It was VERY hard not to hit a home run with a tennis ball!  I can still hear their voices after the whack of the ball on my wooden bat moaning “Oh come on! Not again!” as the ball sailed over their heads and into the weeds.  This was the fall and winter of my 5^th grade year.  Come spring, the boys stopped asking me to play when they hopped on their bikes wearing striped uniforms and caps, new batting gloves in their back pockets and their mitts on their handlebars with a new baseball tucked inside. Down the street they went - laughing and talking until they disappeared around the corner. Gone.

But I could always count on Dad to play a game of catch after work. I could tell what kind of day he had at work by how hard he threw the ball.

Later in the season one of the boys invited me to come to a game.  I was excited until I realized that it wasn’t to play but to sit on the bleachers and cheer for him.  Girls were not allowed to play Baseball.

Sixth grade.  The boys played Pop Warner football and one of my girlfriends invited me to join the cheerleaders.  Wearing deep purple “Bears” cheerleading outfits and waving purple and white pompoms we strutted and yelled things like “Push em back, push em back, waaaaay back!”  It was disturbing as I realized early on that we weren’t actually cheering for the boys as much as we were showing off how cute we were! But still…there I was cheering for the boys.

Jr. High and finally…Girls could play baseball! Well not really, girls could play Soft Ball but on actual teams during Phys Ed class!  But the girls didn’t want to play ball.  They wanted to complain about the unstylish gym outfits and polish their nails and braid each other’s hair.  They played because they had to.  I loved those girl things too but couldn’t we just play sports for one hour???  We learned to play tag football and I loved it!  I broke my finger doing that one day.  Ouch.  Volley Ball was great fun, always played indoors during the rainy season or when the Santa Ana winds blew.

High School - My weekends were spent on the bleachers watching boyfriends play football or baseball.  Women’s lib was on its way but not quite there yet.  So for now I was allowed to sit and cheer …boys like to see you in the stand cheering them on…so “Yay”.  I was invited to try out for cheerleaders but my Pop Warner experience whispered “Don’t do it!”  The summers were spent at the beach watching boyfriends surf; an unwritten rule required that I watch closely so that I could discuss the “great ride” on any given wave….”Yay”.   I couldn’t afford a surfboard and “no decent boyfriend would allow his girlfriend to be out in the waves with the other surfers with their bad language anyway” I was told.  Sigh.  I was sure I could “hang-ten” even though I would be goofy footed being left handed and have some gnarly rides but…no.

But back to Baseball. The years moved on.  My bouncing baby boys became ball players. I sat on the baseball bleachers and cheered but with real meaning this time! Oh how I loved that they were playing baseball and oh how I loved you for supporting them with all of your heart, mind and soul! Not to mention time and involvement.  From PeeWee through Jr High, both boys played and played really well! Our youngest played extremely well in High School and at the University and he played pro for a short season too!  I was in the bleachers for every game possible.  Happy, happy times!! Recently when I paid a visit to my all-grown-up baseball son and his family, I sat in the bleachers at our 4 year old grandson’s T-Ball baseball game. I was thrilled beyond words when he stopped on his way up to bat and waved to me saying “HI GRANDMA!”  Well…sitting on the bleachers, cheering on another little boy was just where I wanted to be!  I’m a pro at it by now! I felt like you were there too.

I received a photo email recently from our son.  He was at a Houston Astros game in the incredible stadium there, his young daughter takes up the main part of the picture with the green field and stadium seats behind her.  And he wrote, “Wish you were here!”  I got a tear in my eye.  Just like I did at the end of that movie!   And as I gazed into the “everything is possible twinkle” in our granddaughter’s eyes in that photo, I’m excited to know that she can play (at least at the elementary school level) baseball or any sport she desires.  Equality is getting closer.  It only took time and many generations of women finally saying HEY! That’s not fair! But it’s near and I’m so glad to be alive to see our granddaughter benefit.

So  Baseball!  I suppose I’ll always have a tear come to my eye when the ump yells “PLAY BALL” because  Baseball connects me to the people I love the most.  From Dad to you to our boys and now our grandchildren.  Tossing the ball back and forth and back and forth. 

I love you.  I still miss you every day. I wish I could make you your favorite meal and treat you to a well deserved Happy Father’s Day.  But this will have to do for now. Thank you for being up there cheering me on as I play out this last inning of my life.  I’m hoping for some high fives when we meet again….. Lots of Love, Me. 

AUTOBIOGRAPHY WRITING ASSIGNMENT #2

CHILDHOOD HOME

Describe in detail your Childhood home(s),  if you had multiple homes you may choose one or as many as you would like. (Oftentimes, even if you lived in multiple houses in your youth there seems to be one that says "HOME" to you in your memory.)

Include where it was located and what you loved about it or didn’t like. What kind of car was in the garage? What were the furnishings like inside the house?

Don’t just describe photos of it that you have seen. Describe it from your perspective, as a child.  What was the view from your bedroom window, what did the house look like, smell like, feel like, was it cold and austere or warm and cozy?

Then...write about a few memories that happened IN that house or houses that include the actual house as part of the memory (it can be at any age) 

These are things that YOU did not someone else that lived there with you. And don't say..while I was living at this house, I went to the beach and... or I was a scout and went on a scout trip and....etc. The house is the main character here and your story in this assignment should revolve completely around it. 

Don't feel like you have to list every experience you ever had in that home. There will be other chances when talking about your youth later.

 Paint a picture with your words then print it out and put it in your binder and maybe even share it with a loved one! Have them start writing and share with you!

You're on your way to having an autobiography!

Congratulations.