Wednesday night was supposed to be a special night. My son was scheduled to play his 2nd baseball game of the season at Harrison Park, a place that is near and dear to my heart. I spent many years playing baseball there growing up, as did my brother, as did my sister, as did my father coaching all of us, as did my mother watching all of us play. Less than a block away from our house, it was a prominent place in our childhood, a location where many summers were spent. I was so excited for this night, but Mother Nature didn’t cooperate, and the game was postponed; we’ll save the tissue for later.
I don’t know how many of these stories I’ve told over the years; I’ve told a lot of them. I never had a blog titled with this name, so maybe I didn’t get too deep into the Harrison Park specific memories, so here we go. My first memory was not the greatest. I believe I was 7 years old, playing my first game on the Dodgers. We were sponsored by the Boys Club, located a couple blocks away. I was nervous. It was only pee-wee league as we called it at the time, but there were a bunch of older kids on our team; if I wasn’t the youngest on the team, I had to be close. They put the new kids and/or the kids who weren’t that great on the pitcher’s mound when the other team hit off the cone. Yes, it was literally a traffic cone back then, not a fancy batting tee like today. So there I stood… standing there… watching the other team hit the ball around the field; I wasn’t necessarily prepared for what happened next. Kid hits a line shot right back at me. Well, my reflexes weren’t as great as they are today (hahaha), and I took it off the chin; I got knocked out cold. Next thing I know, I woke up on the bench in the dugout with a bag of ice on my chin. I believe my dad ran across 18th St. to a bar to get the ice; I’m sure my mother was horrified. I was able to tell this story many times over the next few days, with proof, as the stitches of the baseball were engrained on my chin. I was fine… I guess. I’m sure at that very moment, my mother never wanted me to play baseball again. Of course, I did play again, not that day, but for many years after that initial line drive to the mouth. There was a condition however. I needed to wear a mouthpiece if I was ever to be on the pitcher’s mound again. Agreed.
Yeah, so that was my welcome to Harrison Park. I think since I’ve started, I’ll keep it rolling. This could go on for a while… kind of nice timing I guess, since I need to catch up on my daily posts. Let’s go on another trip down memory lane. Here we go…
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