Baseball In Heaven

My grandfather and I had a special relationship. When I was young we lived near his home in Baltimore. But, my family moved away from Baltimore when I was five and we lived most of my life in another state far away from my grandfather. Whenever he called, however, I was the one grandchild he always wanted to talk to so we could discuss his beloved Baltimore Orioles. I was the one grandchild who followed sports closely and always remained a true Baltimore sports fan. Later in life, I learned that my grandfather was actually a gifted baseball player himself when he was young. In those days, he would explain, professional baseball players did not make enough money to support a family so he had to make up his mind to either play baseball or get married and raise a family. As it turned out, his love for baseball was only surpassed by his love for my grandmother and, although he hung on to the newspaper clippings that labeled him a “can’t miss professional baseball prospect”, he hung up his cleats and glove, married my grandmother and went out to find a “real” job. But his love for the game survived and year in and year out, he and I discussed the intricacies of the game and enjoyed or lamented each baseball season based on the successes and/or failures of the Baltimore Orioles. As crummy as the Baltimore bums are today, I was fortunate enough to experience and share many more successful seasons than poor ones during those limited years that I shared life with this amazing man. I always felt sorry for my grandfather, considering him a victim of poor timing. Had he been born about 50 years later in life, he would not have had to pick between being a baseball player or earning a living – in fact, with his talent, he could have earned a much better than average living while enjoying the one thing he loved most in life. When my grandfather passed away, I was sure that he was joining a heavenly nine to once again strap on his spikes and don the leather. Without a doubt, they must play baseball in heaven. And I wait for the day that I sit in the heavenly bleachers and cheer on a young grandfather playing this wonderful game with other boys of summer. (Inspired by, “is there baseball in heaven”, by Constance, A Rambling Poet)