For New Year’s we drove to New York to have a feast at Carol’s sister Connie’s house.  Carol’s Mom Anne was there, along with sister Lori, our cousin Matt, as well as David & Amanda and Jonny & Katie.  While eating I managed to share some stories with David about his childhood, some of which he only remembered by my endless repetition every year or so, but the later ones by direct memory.  Here are some highlights:

David was a competitor, even as a young boy.  One example of this was in T-ball, when a member of the opposing team would come up to the teed-up ball and hit it over second base into center field.  David’s team (and all other T-ball teams I have ever seen) responded to this by charging (every one of  them) into center field for the ball.  After a scrum worthy of a rugby or NFL game, a lone hand would stick out of the pile holding the ball.  This hand always belonged to David.  From behind home plate we had no idea what happened inside the scrum, we just felt a swell of pride that our son had gotten the ball, and was now loping home with it.

(Interestingly, another person with similar skill at retrieving loose balls is Jeremy…)

A few years later, when the game had advanced to coaches pitching underhand,  David made the all-star team.  This was not because he was a particularly enthusiastic or skilled player, but because of one thing:  he had watched his comrades bat and noticed that swinging for the fences usually meant striking out or topping the ball into a miserable dribbler back to the mound.  He decided to just make contact with the ball and let the chips fall where they may.  He managed to hit a ball in play about 80 percent of the time.  If it was hit to an opposing player, he or she usually dropped it and David was safe at first.  If the ball cleared the infielder’s head, the return throw usually missed its mark and David ended up safe at second.  In any case, David’s batting average was close to .800 in this manner, and on the strength of this,  he made the all-star team.

David recounts the reason he came to play left field, usually the most coveted and prestigious position on the field.  On the first day of practice, David could not locate his glove and was therefore the last player to take the field.  He had no idea where he was playing, so he asked his teammates where he should go.  “Over there” was the answer.  Left field.

Our family made plans to rent a friend’s rustic Maine house on a beautiful pond.  It was a good three-and-a-half hours from our house.  Unfortunately, the town of Waltham scheduled its all-star game for that Saturday.  After some reflection, we decided on the following plan.  The four of us would drive up together to Smithfield.  The next morning David and I would wake up very early and drive down for the game, then drive back up to Maine.  We went to sleep with a sense of excitement.

In the morning David donned his natty baseball uniform, except for sandals.  He carried his cleats separately until the last minute.  We had a quick breakfast (cereal I think), and Carol kissed us goodbye. (I think that we let Jonny sleep in.)  Then we drove the southbound trip, gabbing happily all the way.  As we approached Waltham, David put on his cleats.  We stopped at our house to use the bathroom, and then drove to the field.

There was no one at the field.  Furthermore, as we arrived, the sky, which had turned an ominous gray, began to spit large drops of rain onto our windshield.  After some hunting for a phone booth, I called the head of the program.  Yes, the game had been cancelled due to the impending storm.  David took off his cleats, and I turned the car to the north.  Three plus hours later, we were “back home” in Maine.

David tells me that the game was actually played the following week.  I have no memory of that game.  But I will never forget David’s and my adventure together driving to and from the rained-out all-star game.