Tuesday, February 26, 2019
I was listening today to the album “The Courage of Others" by Midlake, one of my favorite bands, when I suddenly felt myself drifting back to another century. It was 1969 and I was 5 years old, sitting on a hill overlooking the hard clay makeshift baseball field in the open space of the housing project where I grew up. I was too young to play but I fondly recall hearing the kids whoop and cheer their teammates and occasionally send up a few jeers to the opposing team, but all in great fun. I had an unknowable hope that my 5-year-old self did not understand. I expected life to always be as sweet and symmetrical, with the sounds of my siblings and my friends floating up from that little diamond in the valley’s hand to my ears on the warm summer breeze. Now 53, I know that isn’t how life works. All of my adult friends have learned that that isn’t how life works. But I still stop, from time to time, and listen to a warm breeze hoping that I might hear a carefree whoop from the ghost of a trace of a too-good time past.