Musings

A Grand Summer's Day

A truly grand afternoon today. My father's side of the family congregated at Comerica Park, where we saw the Tigers complete their sweep of the St. Louis Cardinals. It's the first time all of us have been out for a game together since September of 1999, when, as a family, we said goodbye to blessed Tiger Stadium. My uncle secured good seats together, on the third base line, with a nice view of the infield, and we cheered ourselves hoarse as Jeremy Bonderman pitched brilliantly, and the team rallied with three late runs to win 4-1. We are nearly at the halfway mark now and the Tigers remain the best team in baseball. I am trying not to get ahead of myself after years of disappointment, but can an October playoff run actually lie in store?

Today's win was extra special because this is my mother's birthday as well. I was glad to take Mom to the ballpark, though I know she's also indulging me a bit by agreeing to spend her birthday at the game.

Afterwards, we retired to my grandfather's apartment for take-out food and much chatter. I don't recall the last time all of us were so aglow with excitement. Baseball is a religion in this family.

R. and J., newlyweds, are likely packing for their European honeymoon right now. I told J. last night that she was one of the most fun brides I've ever met. She boogied hard late into the night, as did R., who proved when the DJ played House of Pain's "Jump Around" that he's the only one still in the shape that he was ten or fifteen years ago. All of us began the song bouncing up and down as hard as we could only to slow down considerably by the second verse. R. looked like he could have pogo-sticked his way for another 10 minutes. His family and I kept a quiet respectful distance, so the tension was at a minimum. The grace that I said before dinner--irony of ironies, being the "bad influence" that his parents once dismissed--was more rushed than I would have liked. I was deep into my second pre-dinner beer when all of the sudden the DJ called me to the mic to lead everybody in prayer. R. said it went well though, so that's all that matters. In all, a splendid night and I'm glad we were here to share it with them.

As for the story about my parent's wedding-- It's a long, funny one, that I hope sees print one day in a slightly fictionalized form. I'll tease you with the opening lines of the fictionalized work-in-progress, but remember I usually try to keep my anonymous Whining Stranger and my real-life aspiring fiction writer worlds from colliding too much:

As if there hadn’t been enough trouble with the rushed arrangement of my parents’ nuptials in the summer of 1973, on the morning of the wedding itself my mother’s father found a corpse sprawled on the front porch as he went to collect the paper.

The body was fresh. It was a young man, judging from the length of his hair and the slightness of his frame. He might have just been asleep, a kid dozing off the last of a wild night. Confused, my grandfather extended his leg, was about to give the body a nudge with slippered toe, when a voice sounded from up the front walk. It came from a police constable.

“Do you know that man, sir?”
“I’m sorry?” my grandfather said.
“Do you know that man, sir? That dead man.”
“He’s dead then?”
“Do you know him, sir?”
“How did he die?”
“Do you know him, sir?“
“No. Well, I can’t see his face.”
“It’s gruesome, sir,” the policeman said. “Don’t look.”

[/end teaser]

And on that note, here's to June weddings, and visits to the church of baseball, and eight dollar ballpark beers, and family get-togethers, and happy birthdays, and the people we love, and all the other myriad blessings that life is good enough to offer at times.