So, there I stood, bare-chested against the blustery breeze in the Union Station parking lot, wiping liquified excrement from my naked chest with a wet wipe.
"A small price to pay for what you get in return. For what you get in return, it's a steal." Robert Guillaume as Isaac Jaffe in ABC's tragically short lived Sports Night
[Reader be warned.......this is a long one.]
(48 hours earlier......)
So, there I stood, on a thin pitcher's rubber in a dusty future location of the Fisher Family Field of Dreams, tossing pitch after pitch to my nephews. I'd paid about $10 for a set of bases from K-Mart a few days before, and the boys had been living it up playing ball in what will someday be a decent back yard. Right now, it's just post-construction dust & mess. But there isn't much more a 6 or 7 year old boy needs in order to have a ball playing ball than dust, mess, ball, & bat. I used to pitch a bit when I was a kid. This is greater somehow, more meaningful, more fun even. Isaiah & Josiah are both good hitters, so I've got to be on my toes. Josiah nearly sent me to the urologist with a sharply hit tennis ball about a month or so ago, so pitcher beware. It was Thursday morning, and we were all excited to be heading to Kansas City on Friday for Josiah's first ever Major League Baseball game, the Royals hosting the White Sox at Kauffman Stadium.
I'd say that playing baseball that day was a physical appetizer for the game Friday; but that would suggest that baseball isn't an everyday part of their lives, which it is. My nephews come from a long line of baseball people. Their mother, my baby sister, Kelley, is a life-long Royals fan. Their uncle, Greg (aka, me), is a huge and long-suffering Royals fan, like my parents before me. Their father, my brother in law, Grady, is, if possible, an even bigger baseball fan than I am, just like his father before him. My nephews come from a mixed baseball marriage. Their mother is a Royals fan, and their father is a Cardinals fan. They're raising them up to appreciate both. But, as often happens in such homes, the battle lines are already drawn. Kelley & Isaiah prefer the Royals, but root for the Cards, as well. Grady and Josiah prefer the Cards, but root for the Royals, as well. As the younger boys, Eli, Gideon, and Jonathan, come of age, I suspect they'll choose a side, too. But this weekend, we're all Royals fans. This weekend is to be quite special. A first big league game is a rite of passage for a boy in their family. Last September, it was Isaiah's special day. This year, Josiah's. At some point during the week, the decision was made to take all 5 boys to Kansas City, and have my Mom watch Eli & Gideon in the hotel while the rest of us went to the game.
(Friday, circa 2pm)
So, there I sat, in a car with Eli, his Grandma & Grandpa, and me. It's about a 4 hour drive from our new house to Kansas City. Since Grady had been working on our new deck during the week, all the happy Goodwyns have been happy-ing at our new house of late. So, we piled into the Goodwyn's van and my folks' car, and ventured northward. It was a long drive, and tiring. It's odd how sitting in a car can be tiring. But it can. Mom was in the back trying to keep Eli entertained, and did a great job. He didn't jump out of the car a single time, and only once reached around Dad's head to cover his eyes while driving. (OK, that part, I made up.) Eli was good. He was tiring of playing dot-to-dot with his Grandma, so I convinced him to play 20 questions. I really didn't think he'd have the patience for it; but he did. He actually got into it & had fun. We made it to the hotel a little later than we'd planned, but weren't late. We caught the hotel shuttle from Holiday Inn, and headed for the game.
(Friday evening)
So, there I sat, in a sweatshirt & shorts, enduring the chilly temperature and intermittent rain of an unusually cool Kansas City September evening, surrounded on all sides by a gaggle of screaming adolescent girls. I mean no offense here, honestly; but there is no sound in all the natural world louder than a herd of teenage or pre-teen girls. At what point, and to what point, do they learn that piercing, shrill, spine-tingling woot? There was a girls softball team in the 2 rows in front of us and some of the row behind us. Our seats were pretty good. We were in the 3rd row on the right field line, about half way between the foul (fair) pole and 1st base. The girls, God bless them, screamed non stop from before the 1st pitch till the fireworks after the game. They'd scream, woot, scream, woot, laugh, scream, woot, complain about how they're losing their voices, and then scream some more. They directed most of their screams at one Jeff Fancoeur, the very popular right fielder in his 1st year with the Royals.
It's nigh on impossible not to love Frenchie. He plays very hard, hustles, has a flat out cannon for an arm, is active in charities and church, and absolutely ALWAYS has a smile on his face. He's having his best year as a big leaguer, and seems to love it in KC, which automatically endears him to the Royals fans. Well, this screaming gaggle of teenage girls spent the whole evening screaming in his direction. You'd think he were a Beatle during the 1960's. Long about the 3rd or 4th inning, as he was running out to take his posistion in right field, and the girls were screaming like a battalion of banshees, he did acknowledge them with a quick wave. They loved that. And so they screamed. Long about the 8th inning, maybe only the 7th, when Frenchie ran to take the field, he didn't take his normal, direct route. Oh, no. He ran right along the outfield wall, right up to those screaming teens, and threw them a glove's worth of candy, gum, and sunflower seed packages, one of which was open, indicating to the lucky girl who'd caught it that Frenchie, himself, had been eating out of it. Well, those girls went absolutely NUTS! They screamed, they swooned, they screamed some more. The volume was extreme, but it was really kind of heartwarming. Francoeur gave those girls a thrill they'll never forget. Heck, I'll never forget it either.
(Friday, circa 10pm)
So, there I sat, alongside my oldest nephew, Isaiah, in the bottom of the 9th inning. The Royals had been leading most of the game, but not anymore. The score was tied 6-6, after Tim Collins gave up a 2 run homer to the White Sox Brent Morel in the 8th. It had been a very enjoyable game, lots of offense, a homer for Moose, some stolen bases, just lots of action. Then, the lead we'd enjoyed evaporated, and we were on the brink of extra innings, or even a heartbreaking loss. That said, they had a 5 game winning streak going, and were playing with a lot of energy. So, hope remained. Isaiah is a true baseball lover. Whether he's watching on TV or watching at the stadium, he's into every pitch. He knows what's going on, and usually knows why. He was riveted. Alex Gordon led off the bottom of the 9th with a single to right. Cabrera bunted him to 2nd base. The White Sox then intentionally walked Billy Butler.....my favorite player, much to the chagrin of the raucus remaining crowd. Then, Eric Hosmer stepped to the plate. Hos has superstar written all over him. He's a rookie with a special glove at 1st base, and extra special zip in his bat. My prediction is that the Royals will trade him when he's about to enter free agency, and he will replace Mark Texiera at 1st base for the Yankees the following year. I hope that won't be the case; but that's what I forsee. As Isaiah can tell you, one reason to walk Butler to get to Hosmer is to set up the lefty vs lefty matchup, which typically favors the pitcher. But, this night was special. You could feel it in the unseasonably chilly air, in the enthusiasm and energy of this, the youngest team in the league, echoed back to them by their faithful, long-suffering fans. This, would be a night to remember.
So, there I stood, fists in the air, cheering at the top of my lungs, as the ball jumped off Hosmer's bat bound for left field, just over the glove of Juan Pierre. There I stood, and there I cheered as Alex scored the game winning run, and as the team dog-piled Hosmer behind the pitcher's mound. And there I stood, looking down at my nephews cheering wildly, Isaiah jumping up and down for a good 2 minutes, overcome with excitement and exuberance. After all, he's a Royals fan. There I stood, as my fondest hopes for this game came to fruition, a walk off win in the bottom of the 9th. I loved the moment for myself; but that is lost in what I felt for what the moment meant, and I hope will always mean to my nephews. It was........perfect. There I stood, enjoying the perfect enjoyment my nephews got to experience on this, Josiah's 1st ever big league game, and a special night for us all.
(Saturday, 1pm)
So, there I sat, in a train themed restaurant at Crown Center, as the train dropped our orders off at our tables. We'd come to Union Station, in large part, for this train themed restaurant, which we'd walked across The Link to Crown Center to reach. (Sadly, I don't remember the name of the restaurant.) We had walked around Union Station for an hour or so late that morning, just looking around. The boys had so much fun in the model train room, darting from this display to that, loving trains as boys tend to do. There I sat, between Isaiah and Josiah, as the food arrived at our table via the train track above us. There I sat, as my oldest nephew, at 7 1/2 years, Isaiah, My-saiah, looked down at his old fashioned hot dog and said these words: "This is the best day ever." I'm sure parents love to hear those kinds of words. But so do uncles. I don't have any progeny; but I've got lots of kids, 1 niece, 5 nephews, and more cousins than I can count. I've got kids. And your heart just melts to see them so happy. "This is the best day ever." (Sigh.)
(Saturday, 2pm)
So, there I stood, bare-chested against the blustery breeze in the Union Station parking lot, wiping liquified excrement from my naked chest with a wet wipe. I'd been carrying little Jonathan, 2 1/2 months old, from the restaurant back over the Link to Union Station. We had made it all the way across the Link, and were descending the last stairs, when I noticed that my right nipple was wet. Now, I'm pretty sure I'm not lactating, so that seemed out of sorts for me. I picked Jonathan up off my left shoulder, where I'd most lately been carrying him, and moved him to my right. It was then that I noticed that most of the left side of my chest was wet, too. I held the little guy out from me, and saw that he had messed all the way through his clothes, and through mine, too. I'll not deny that I found it disgusting. We headed out to the car and the van to get him cleaned up and a change of clothes, and to get me cleaned up and a change of shirt, for which I'm most thankful I had the notion to pack. Mom had some wet wipes in the car, so I pulled off my shirt to clean up, and felt the 55 degrees most keenly, and the north wind most bitingly. I proceeded to wipe off my naked chest, there in the open, in the parking lot at Union Station. It was then that it occurred to me, that..........I am Uncle Greg. I am a lot of things: a Christian, a baseball fan, a music lover and occasional musician, a songwriter, a son, a brother, a grandson. But I think my most defining trait, is Uncle. I pitch batting practice. I make up dragon stories. I play with. I pray with. And I pray for. I sing to. I make laugh. I teach what little it is that I know. Sometimes I get to watch as my nephews jump for joy at the Royals game. Sometimes I get to listen as my nephews say "This is the best day ever." Sometimes I stand half naked in a brisk breeze wiping liquified baby poop off my bare chest in front of Union Station. And I wouldn't have it any other way. After all, I am Uncle Greg. And, Uncle Greg, am I.
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