9.2.09 What I brought from home

Few things remind me of home more than family and baseball. Both have played a pivotal part in my upbringing. As a result I brought a single, right hand batting glove. The glove belonged to my uncle who plays in an over 40 softball league who passed his cherished prize down to me, to remember what is most important, at least to him: ball and family. My uncle Paul is a baseball fanatic, and through his and my dad's shared interest in the Phillies, I too became a fan. I grew up an athlete and huge sports fan, and baseball was always my favorite. Through him, my father, and the Phillies I learned passion, hope, devastation, and come last fall, the thrill of victory. Both men were with me when the Phils claimed that prestigious top prize, ending Philadelphia's twenty-eight year championship-less streak. It was a glorious night.

The glove, though modern, is able to stir up memories from the past like few other things. My entire life until now involved baseball. From tee-ball to varsity ball, baseball has played as frequent a role in my life as my family. And who was there to cheer my team on at all games? None but my family of course. My Uncle Paul realized my life, his life, and my family's lives would inevitably change with my departure and he was wise in selecting such a priceless gift, a gift only I could understand. The worn and stained-with-love-glove represents a part of my life I can never go back to, except in memories.

There's a decent chance I will never play competitive baseball again and it's an unsettling feeling. It is sad to realize that only memories will satisfy the void. I look at the batting glove recalling the smells of the game- the dirt, the sunflower seeds, the sweat, the gatorade, and the peanut butter bars we had before every game and none of that can ever happen again. Nevertheless, in baseball you have to push off from somewhere in order to move around the bases, and if you hit it just right, you'll make it home. I plan on that being the case with me.

My roommates, Brad and Justin, probably just think I'm crazy but I don't mind. Upon seeing the beat up glove, they believe that it represents in me a love and dedication to the game of baseball, and they would be correct. However, only I can truly grasp such a special object, and I like it that way. A piece of me, a piece of my family, and a piece of the past is inside and it is mine forever, a relieving thought.