Being born in southeast Missouri and spending time there comes with a price. You grow up understanding that about the best burger in memory comes from Kirby’s. In time you discover that you can get just as full on the hen cut of the Chicken Fried Round Steak at Lambert’s as you can on the rooster cut. And, perhaps most importantly, you grow up following St. Louis Cardinal baseball.
My grandfather was the standard bearer for Cardinal baseball in our family. I can remember many afternoons, him sitting in his chair in the living room. He had his pipe full of Prince Albert in one hand and a transistor radio tuned to KMOX-AM pressed to his ear, by the other. This is if the game was an away game. If it was a home game, he’d have the television on with the sound turned down. A wonderful memory.
When my father first went to work for the Sikeston Daily Standard, he thought he was going to be an ad man. That changed his first day on the job. The Willie Mays All-Stars came to town and he was sent out to interview Willie Mays and Hank Aaron. Not a bad first day on the job.
I played little league ball up until the 5th grade. Somehow, moving to Nashville ended my career. Not that I was that good. I wasn’t. But I loved playing the game. Second base was my position and in the course of my short stint in the game, I had three moments that stood out as being something special. The first time I ever had the wind knocked out of me was when a big kid ran over me on his way from first to second. Literally, mowed me down. Then, one evening in Shelbyville, Tennessee, I scored the winning run. That was a night to remember. Oh, and once in Palm Springs, Florida, I had my photograph taken with Joe Torre. He was catcher for the Atlanta Braves in those days.
A fabled career.
When I look back on baseball in my life I am reminded that life was simple then. It was less complex with less to be concerned with or to worry over. The rules were easier to understand and follow. In baseball, you knew to always check the runner before throwing the ball. Always, or at least whenever possible, get the lead runner out on a force out. You knew to tag up before trying to advance on a fielded fly ball. And if there are two outs and you’re on base, you always, always run on anything. Simple.
And life, to me at least, seemed that simple.
It’s hard not to be happy when you are at a ballpark. Summer seems less hot in the bleachers. Sure, the home team may lose the game, but just being there, in the park, with a bag of peanuts and soft drink; that has to count for something. It is the experience. It’s being there that makes us happy even if the outcome doesn’t.
The world has become a place where happiness is sometimes elusive. But we search for it. There are times when we put a price tag on it saying, “if only I had this, I’d be happy.” I know that I have done this and I know that I have missed the mark on many occasions. I have a house full of things but still have moments, days and weeks when I can’t put my hands on happiness.
When these times come I think back to when I knew that I was truly happy. There are many. But looking deeper, I see that those times are marked by how simple they were. Some of the happiest times of my life were spent not having a whole lot of money or a whole lot of things. We lived where hundreds of channels of distraction where not available to us. So we found our happiness, our peace and contentment in each other’s company or in the company of friends. A good book to read with great music playing softly in the background hold memories of shear joy.
We didn’t have a lot, but what we did have made us happy.
Yesterday morning, I was sitting behind home plate at my youngest grandson’s baseball game. I haven’t been great at making it out to his games or my other grandchildren’s games. I admit. But I am finding that going to these games is something I should do more frequently. I think I can learn a lot from watching a 5 year old play baseball.
At five it is all about the love of the game. Joy comes from pulling on a jersey and picking up a glove. It is having your own particular style walking up to the plate and settling into the batters box. Picking off the lead runner is optional in this game and if want to hold the ball until the runner is two feet from the base before throwing, that is okay too. Playing hard is rewarded with a tall Gator Aid, and sometimes, the game ball.
There will be time for rules. Time for more than five pitches. Learning the strategies and nuances of the game will come. But for now, it is the love. It is the happiness.
Perhaps this can be applied in a grown-ups life. Is it possible to rediscover that in the grand scheme of things, what matters isn’t how much money you make or what all that money can buy? What should matter is what you do with what you have. My five year old grandson can not tell you what the infield fly rule is, but he can show you how to flash a big smile, run out to centerfield to wait for the fly ball that will never come, and have the time of his life.
Yes, I think I can learn a lot from watching a five year old play baseball.
“People are just as happy as they make up their minds to be.”
~ Abraham Lincoln (1809-1865)
~ Greg
Photo credits: Joe Torre and Greg Grimley was taken by Weldon Grimsley. Jackson Grimsley getting a hit was taken by Jennifer Wade Grimsley.
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