The Chance to Play

As I walk home from the train as part of my commute every day, I pass by Little League and softball games going on. Each day, I am reminded of my own childhood when I walk by those fields. By the end of elementary school, I had spent countless hours at baseball practice and playing in Little League games. I remember being embarrassed when my mom would scream my name or those of my teammates as she rooted us on. I remember the gum and hot dogs we used to buy at the concession stands and the playground younger siblings would play on. I remember the track we used to run around before practice and hold fond memories of the summer of 1992 when I made the all-star team and we practiced twice a day – from 9:00-12:00 and from 5:00-8:00. The fields at Sacajawea Park that I spent so many hours at were memorable, magical and full of so much potential for the sixth grader that I was then. In looking at them now through Google Maps, I am struck with how simple, if not worn down, the entire area appears through the satellite imagery. In fact, the entire park feels smaller than I remember it being.

But that’s what happens as you get older. And I suspect that will be the case for the Little Leaguers I walk by now each day playing on their own field of dreams. One day they’ll look back, when they’re far from the big leagues and the memories, and reminisce, happy to have had the chance to play.

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