My grandmother introduced me to her lifestyle when I was five years old. Her screaming, her ranting, her raving. Her stomping, her anger, her heart. Her love and her long line of men. They came and they went.
There is your new grandpa she would say.
I would size him up but they never measured up to my real Grandpa Rusty, or my fantasy Grandpa Elvis.
And I bet none of them could sing like either of my Grandpas.
Every spring, we would start with our love.
We would follow these men.
If we were lucky, or they were lucky, until October.
Then, it was a long good bye to them. As if they were bears who hibernate for the winter. The last day in October with them was as bittersweet as my last evening visiting my Grandma.
She left this legacy with me though, to fancy these men throughout my life, too. I too, have had a long line of them boys of summer.
I anxiously await every spring for their return to my life and say a bittersweet good bye in October every year.
My grandmother, left her love. Her legacy for me to carry on.
Baseball is our heart.
Dedicated to Gramma Dod.