As a Kid
December 1, 2008Some random, stream of consciousness thoughts on childhood memories and baseball. Playing marbles with my brother Kevin after 3rd grade got out, waiting for my Dad to drive us in his International Scout II to practice at Eisenhower high school. My parents letting me miss school for big games and riding on the school bus with the team. The whole team singing along to “Benny and the Jets” from the 8 track on the bus. My Dad screaming at umpires. One of the players flipping me a ball over the dugout and missing it and catching it with my mouth…all the blood in the drinking fountain…never ever missed a pop fly after that. Practically living under the bleachers. Eating all the crap off the ground under the bleachers. Kevin, at age 4, going toe to toe, throwing blows with a teenage midget under the 
bleachers…to this day still one of the coolest, oddest things I’ve ever witnessed. Staying really late after the games and practice and being really hungry and cold as my Dad cleaned up the field for the next day. Playing organized t-ball and the homemade Indian t-shirt my aunt made for my bro and I. Developing arm strength by throwing rotten oranges at each other from the grove we lived in. My Mom sewing the Eisenhower baseball hat so that it would fit our little heads. Fifth grade, after we moved to Orange County, sitting on top of the dugout pile driving sunflower seeds at Cerritos watching my Dad’s teams and Wally Kincaid’s teams do battle. Working on the field at Orange Coast College, begging my father to let me try his Copenhagen and him finally giving in and laying down in the dugout about 1 minute later. My Dad yelling at the umpires even more. Winning the state in 1980 at Blair Field in Long Beach. Going to Connie Mack and high school games to recruit. Praying that there was a snack bar at those games. Praying that there would be some other kids there to get a pick up game going. Staying late after those games so my Dad could talk to the player he was recruiting. Hitting in the cages every day. Going through stages of loving baseball and hating baseball. The George Brett poster on my bedroom wall. Reading “The Art of Hitting .300″ and flipping the pages to see the Brett hitting sequence. Reading “The Science of Hitting”. My grandpa giving me “My Turn at Bat” in Kentucky. Three flies up and over the line at Killybrooke elementary. The elaborate netting/tee/padded walls/hitting contraption I had set up in the garage. Hitting in the garage after dinner. Watching batting practice at Anaheim Stadium. Always sneaking into better seats. Getting close enough to see the pro’s cool cleats and batting gloves. Using my Dad’s pass to get into the Angel games for free. Waiting under the freeway for my Dad or Mom to pick me up from those games.
AWESOME! Hope you’re doing everything you can to create those memories for your little man.
Man, I loved this post Brent. Growing up in 70’s Socal was the best. I remember little league in Yorba Linda like it was yesterday, and all the baseball camps at CS Fullerton. I loved Garrido, Wallach, David Weathers and Sam Favano. I had a Dodger (Tommy John) and an Angel (Skip Lockwood) on my paper route, and my cousins lived next to Teddy Sizemore in Brea and I remember thinking “Hey, he’s just a regular guy,” avocado groves for impromptu batting practice and guacamole, Xmas in Big Bear (including once when Hell’s Angels were squatting in our rented cabin and my Dad managed to get rid of them without getting killed)…the McDonalds in YL had a hitching post for horses, still does I’m told. I still miss those days, especially now that I’m freezing my a** off in Michigan. Thank you for stirring memories.
SS, I didn’t know you grew up in Cal. Good stuff. Yorba Linda must’ve been wide open then (like most of Orange County). Uh you probably know this, but it’s not so wide open anymore.