Great story! I was grinning like a goon when looking at your baseball team photograph. I have plenty just like it tucked away who knows where. I'm ~15 years younger than you are so mine are in color, but you could colorize yours and I would never know that it wasn't Willow Creek Little League in 1974. I don't know for sure but I think it took until I was seven and playing for the Owls to have a black teammate. Sammy. He could throw, and I could catch, which were talents of some distinction at that time. I became the catcher. That evolved without my really realizing the implications into my being A catcher. I remember watching as an Owls opponent hit a ground ball to one infielder or another and he somehow fielded the ball and tossed it across the diamond to Raymond, our freakishly tall and freakishly unathletic first baseman, who somehow caught it to complete the play. Gene, our coach (I just remembered his name, he was young and childless and not a creep or anything, just wanted to help some kids kind of vibe), Gene literally leaped from the dugout, arms raised triumphantly, and screamed, FAR OUT!
It was the 70's, you know? And so I am certainly old enough to remember South Park Blvd before it became MLK.
I'm always curious about the lives you necks lead. I like to wonder, but I also like some background that comes from a place other than my fetid imagination. I mean, I know about Buford's life, of course. And Keith and I have actually met. But that was back when his son was just a little boy. He's probably about 25 now, paying for Buford's so-securtee.
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06-23-2017, 02:54 AM
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