Play Ball!

by David Goldman

As I’ve said before, I had a pretty normal childhood. My diabetes was never treated or perceived as an anchor by myself or my family. It seems like my summer days used to be spent outside playing ball and hanging out with friends. I know it wasn’t this way, but it sure seems like those days were always sunny, 80°, and light till 10:30 at night.

My friends and I used to have a great time. For a few years I went to day camp with a couple of them. Camp was fun, but we always were forced to do the prescribed activities such as arts and crafts, playing board games and watching movies on the rainy days. Don’t get me wrong. These things were all fine, but at that age all I wanted to do was play baseball or any other outdoor sport. Swimming was good, but somewhat tainted by the fact that we had to have lessons rather than just a free swim. Those free swim days were always a bonus. I’m sure the counselors thought the same. After all, that gave them time to sneak away and have a cigarette.

But it was after my summer camp days that formed my most everlasting memories of summer. In the spring of 1965 I was going to be entering fifth grade. Early that summer we discovered a little sand and gravel covered lot that was attached to a school in the neighborhood just west of ours. This little school was the Henry David Thoreau School. It was very small. We were never in it, but it appeared to have two, maybe three classrooms. The schoolyard, the sand and gravel filled lot, was also pretty small. It was a rectangle measuring maybe 100 feet wide by 200 feet long. One end had a strip of concrete on the ground and the rest of the lot was filled with the sandy, gravely mixture. There was nothing else in there. Just this open space. It was just perfect for a bunch of boys looking for a place to play ball.

It feels like we played baseball in that lot every single day. We didn’t have enough guys to play a regular baseball game. There were usually about 10 or 12 of us. So, we improvised. First, we’d choose teams. Two guys were arbitrarily named captain and they’d alternate choosing one player at a time for their team. The game was called Shortstop Out. We didn’t play with a regular baseball. We played with a spongy rubber ball the size of a baseball. They cost a dime and they’d last through a couple of games if no one hit it on a roof. There was no pitcher. You stood on the concrete strip and tossed the ball up in front of yourself and swung. If you missed, you were out. If you put it into play, you had to get to first before the ball got to the shortstop, wherever he happened to be standing.

It was a simple game and we played it for days and hours on end. We got to the point where we felt good enough to challenge the 6^th graders who had to be introduced to the game. Back then, a year’s difference in age could’ve been equal to ten years. It seemed as if all the kids knew their place. You didn’t hang out with anyone older or younger than you. That was just how it was. But the 6^th graders accepted our challenge, assuming they would crush us because after all, they were the 6^th graders.

It didn’t go according to their plan though. We knew that lot like the backs of our hands. We knew just where to hit the ball to make it take a crazy bounce and our fielding was really good by that time. I don’t remember the score, but we won. It was humiliating for the older kids so naturally, they challenged us to another game the next day. We accepted and beat them that game too.

We had a great time playing ball that summer. It got to the point where we didn’t even make any arrangements. We’d all just get up in the mornings, hop on our bikes and ride over. At lunchtime we’d take a break and ride our bikes back home. As soon as we had gobbled down our sandwiches we were headed back.

I’m writing this because today is one of those days. Everything about it reminds me of those times that have become such a part of me. I can walk outside and “feel” exactly what those days felt like. If I take a moment I can even smell the memories – the smell of the bat, the ball, and the air around us. I can even see everything as I did then, out of two eyes. I can hear the guys trying to intimidate the batter with the drone of the  street traffic in the background. It only lasts a few seconds but it’s all there, all around me. For a brief moment I’m back there again. It’s truly like stepping back in time. I suppose those days were so enjoyable that I retained not only the details of what went on, but the atmosphere that came along with them.

I can only hope our generation’s children have memories like these -- memories that can carry them through a lifetime.