Midwest Gypsy

You can discover more about a person in an hour of play than in a year of conversation.
― Plato

A couple of weeks ago, I was invited to spend a few days with my daughter and her family. Far too many miles separate us, and I miss them like crazy. They live just outside Washington, DC, which was one of our home ports when we lived aboard a boat, and it was my favorite. It’s such a beautiful and vibrant city, and I love going back there.

Over the course of the long weekend I played catch with my eight-year-old grandson, Bobby. A LOT of catch. I figured we would, so I was sure to pack my glove. Baseball is our “thing,” and he and I share a deep passion for it. During the regular season, we have long telephone conversations and analyze the Cardinals’ game from the day before. I email him links to YouTube videos of plays made by his favorite players, and I even cajoled his mother into getting him his own MLB.com subscription so that he could watch games and keep up with the latest news. I jokingly refer to Bobby as the child I never had, since neither of my own children ever developed a love for the game despite my best efforts. My daughter just rolls her eyes and shakes her head.

It didn’t take long to realize that playing catch with Bobby was keeping me firmly planted in the present, which is the complete and total opposite of “the past” or “the future.” It was wonderfully liberating! I didn’t think about anything else besides what was happening right then and there, nor could I. After all, it’s important to always keep your eye on the ball.

We talked about anything and everything: the positions he plays on his little league team (catcher, shortstop, second base) and which one is his favorite (catcher); his teammates and his coaches; piano lessons; having to move next summer; his enormous baseball card collection; how he broke in his catcher’s mitt; how excited he was to be invited to work out this winter with some of the kids from his team. You know…Stuff.

So much has been written about the importance of being present. Living in the now. Today. But, oh, it can be so hard to do, provided we even think to do it, that is. We’re promised that doing so will put us in harmony with The One in body, mind, and soul. Wouldn’t that be sheer nirvana?

Come to think of it, maybe sheer nirvana was exactly what I experienced while playing catch with my grandson. I was lucky enough to be transported away for a little while from being even remotely concerned about the future, a place I spend too much time anyway. Crass though it may sound, I recently heard someone say that when you’ve got one foot stuck in yesterday and the other stuck in tomorrow, you’re (take a guess) on today. Crude, but true. Kentuckians have a way of calling them the way they see them, I guess.

I was never a jock, but most sports have been able to thrill me vicariously…baseball especially, and the Cardinals in particular. My eight-year-old grandson, Bobby, loves baseball…the Cardinals especially, and Yadier Molina in particular. So when our daughter happened to come across the announcement in the Washington Post encouraging kids to apply for a position at the Washington Nationals’ “Kids Run the Show” day, she thought it would be an ideal writing assignment for Bobby, whom she homeschools.

The method she uses to educate Bobby and his sister is identical to how she herself was homeschooled; that is, she unschools, which is to say that she uses the kids’ natural interests and life experiences to direct their learning. Unschooling is a real-world implementation of the “open classroom” philosophy promoted in the late 1960s and early 1970s and, while canned courses are occasionally used, the facilitator (usually the parent) follows the lead of the child and incorporates reading, writing, and arithmetic. And history, and science, and philosophy, and social studies, and the fine arts, and religion, and any other “subject” imaginable. The possibilities are limitless, and the result is a thoroughly explored interest and a very “educated” and well-rounded human being. But, back to baseball.

Every applicant who wanted to be a kid who “ran the show” had to write his reasons why he or she should be chosen; Bobby wrote about how much he loved baseball and how he hoped he’d become a major leaguer someday. He is genuine about his passion. He plays shortstop for his little league team, also named the Nationals, and wears the same number as his hero, #4. His baseball card collection, organized in clear plastic sheets, numbers nearly three hundred cards, and he has watched the Ken Burns’ documentary, “Baseball,” in its entirety, and many baseball-themed movies, as well. If there was an scale to determine degree of obsession, his would be off the chart.

I don’t know how many kids applied, but considering how big the Washington, DC-area is, it was probably a lot. So when my daughter got the phone call last week from someone at the Nationals’ front office letting her know that Bobby had been selected, she was stunned. But not nearly as much as Bobby was when she told him.

The seven hundred miles that separate my grandchildren and me is bridged by texting and Facetime, both of which happen often, thank goodness. I felt like I was right there at Nationals Park this past Sunday. Multiple texts flew between my daughter and me, hers attached to photos with commentary like, “OMG….he’s out there shooting the shit with the umps!!!”

Yep, Bobby was at home plate with all four umps and José Lobaton, the Nationals’ catcher, the player whom he had been assigned to shadow. Photo after photo not only captured the event, but they managed to capture the sheer joy that overflowed from my grandson. Sitting at home, so far away, I was able to easily imagine how excited Bobby must have been…and then it dawned on me. Tune in to the game!!!

Ours is a “zero tv household,” with television programming streamed via computer instead of cable or satellite, and mlb.com is one of the best investments we’ve made. I tuned in to the Washington-Philadelphia game, due to start any minute. I’ve watched enough games to know that even though there is a set start time, it’s unpredictable when the static screen goes live. Nevertheless, I sat poised in front of the television patiently, my phone’s camera set to video, ready to capture the moment, should the moment indeed present itself.

And then, without warning, the screen came to life, camera zeroing in on the home plate’s goings on. And there was my grandson, standing alongside the umpiring crew as though it was the most natural thing in the world. The video I took lasted only a mere thirteen seconds, but it secured the moment I witnessed my grandson on the field at a nationally televised baseball game. I was so proud and so happy for Bobby. I knew he’d think that this was the best day of his life and would remember it always.

Like so many young boys, Bobby dreams of playing baseball professionally, and who knows, maybe someday he will. Opportunities such as this and other stepping stones will present themselves and he’ll be supported and encouraged by the people who care about him all the way. Meanwhile, though, he’s already a star in my book.

A recent trip back to my hometown provided an opportunity to do something I don’t often have the chance to do very much anymore: parallel park. Particularly within the city limits of St. Louis–or any major city for that matter–drivers ought to know how to do it if they have any hope whatsoever of parking their car anywhere near their destination.

It’s a skill that some consider obscure and has thus fallen into the category of lost arts, but the sense of satisfaction when it is successfully achieved makes it so worthwhile…especially if someone’s watching, whether as a passenger or an onlooker. It got me thinking of the many life lessons that are attached to being able to parallel park successfully.

The fear factor alone might prevent a lot of drivers from even attempting on-the-street parking. That’s because the length of one’s vehicle is often exaggerated in one’s mind. Those lacking the confidence to parallel park simply assume that the available space is not big enough to accommodate one’s vehicle. This is not just my opinion, but rather is a cognitive bias called “anchoring,” in which one piece of information—whether true or not—is used to make subsequent decisions.

This thought then led me to wondering how often groundless fears keep us humans from attempting something. I still remember going for my CDL license a few years ago and feeling the fear of having to back an 18-wheeler down a lane that was two hundred feet long. It took jack-knifing it numerous times before I figured out just how useful those side mirrors could be.

And when it came time to learn how to parallel park the behemoth, I felt defeated before I even tried. The task didn’t even seem possible. I didn’t know what or who would give up on me first: the tractor’s clutch or the instructor.

There have been times when my tenacity—ok, stubbornness—has served me well, and this was one of them. Thank goodness for those orange cones, for they were both forgiving and expendable. But that age-old adage, “Practice, practice, practice!” is what is it ultimately took. That, and an instructor who had the patience of Job.

In the case of parallel parking, seriously, what is the very worst that can happen… that success isn’t achieved on the first try? That’s not an excuse for not trying. Besides, success in anything rarely occurs on the first try. Even if it were, would any learning really occur? Thomas Edison, who had more than ten thousand failures when trying to fashion a light bulb that would run on electricity said that ‘he HAD to succeed, because he finally ran out of things that wouldn’t work.’

Truly, to start something all over is a rather minuscule consequence when you really think about it. I find that having to re-do things happens fairly often in life….at least it does in mine. I’ve learned that starting over and doing something right is better than trying to gloss over a mistake, not to mention being a time-saver in the long run.

I remember many of the sewing and macrame projects I had to restart so that I could remedy a mistake I had made, and the lessons I learned in the process. In the end, they were all worth it. After all, “to err is human, to forgive, Divine.” Maybe we shouldn’t be so hard on ourselves.

I never imagined that parallel parking would parallel life itself, but I suppose it really does–lessons, especially. Even to this day, my 30-something-year-old daughter thanks me for being adamant about her learning how to parallel park, as well as to stop and go up a steep hill in a car with manual transmission when she was learning to drive. There are certain skills worth having.

Minds are like parachutes; they don’t work unless they’re opened. Imagine all the opportunities that can be ours if only we’re willing to try!

In just a few days, I’ll be sixty years old, and what is most surprising to me is that I’m actually excited about it! If you told me twenty years ago that I would be happy about turning sixty, I would have not believed you. I remember a time not so long ago, it seems, when I thought “thirty” was old.

The sobering reality of crossing the threshold separating middle age and the golden years has kindled an introspective reflection of my life’s journey: what it has been up until now, what it is presently, and what I want it to be. All things considered, it has been a wonderful life.

I’m sure my life has not been that much different than most anyone else’s. There have been ups and downs, gains and losses, joy and pain. It is “Life,” after all, and no one ever said it was going to be easy. Out of all the lessons I’ve learned, the most painful ones shaped my character the most—and for the better, I think.

I certainly have regret about some things and wish I could do them over. But to say that I wished that I had never experienced loss or pain would be to discount all the growth that happened as a result. In retrospect, it was going through tough times that really tested my mettle. We truly are stronger than we think.

Thank God that wisdom comes with age and experience! What a relief it is to finally be able to be comfortable in my own skin and to realize that things that used to matter a lot when I was younger–like others’ opinions of me, popularity, and physical appearance–have given way to more important things like good health, emotional well-being, and true friendships.

What has abetted my positive attitude, I believe, is posting something for which I’m grateful on one of my Pinterest boards, Epic Gratitude…365 Days, One Day at a Time every day. I didn’t come up with the idea; towards the end of last year, I read an article about a woman who took a photograph of something every day that she was grateful for, and that appealed to me very, very much.

It came on the heels of being really annoyed with some people on Facebook (this was when I had an account) who made a gratitude post every day in November, as though the holiday of Thanksgiving slapped them upside the head, reminding them of all their blessings. I cynically wondered if they would have done it otherwise, and doubted it.

So far I’ve posted two hundred and one photos of things that I’m grateful for. Very few of them are “the usuals:” family members, a roof over my head, a job I love, a reliable car. Most of them, though, are photographs of things that I don’t think I was aware of previously, like my town having miles and miles of sidewalks so that I can take my daily walks safely; or the carton of eggs one of my foreign students gave me in appreciation for being her ESL teacher; or the replacement hinge on my car door that prevented it from flinging wide open every time I opened it. I even took a picture of a full roll of toilet paper, because a family in a civic club I belong to had hit such hard times that they were down to their last one.

More than anything, this project has made me aware of what is around me, and that in and of itself is a blessing. It has made me realize that I’ve taken so many things for granted all my life, and it has made me feel truly, truly blessed and so thankful. I have been made aware that it really is the little things that mean a lot.